I've made no secret of my lifelong weakness for Indian men - not just for those who happened to be born in India like myself, but for original Indian natives - or, if born outside, with strong Indian D.N.A. being visible - preferably Hindus or Sikhs, with their hooded cocks (as mine is) which I much prefer rather than those with skinned cocks such as Muslims have - as well as, most obviously of all to Europeans, Jewish men. (It was to my surprise that, when I started having sex, I found out that the vast majority of Americans too are 'cut'). But cocks are, of course, just one aspect of the male body - any male Desi being capable of having good and 'hot' looks, and I've never refused a skinned cock on any man for that reason alone. 
I've no idea if my predilection for such Indian men is connected to whoever it was that instigated the unusual fetish (= sexual 'excitement') I have for men's khaki clothes which I've written about in previous posts, and above all for khaki drill shorts - or k.ds as they're sometimes called - the most likely 'suspect' for pointing my taste in this direction being the youth and sole male member of the small coterie of Indian servants (ayahs/cooks) my family, as European, employed - he a mid-teenager who habitually wore khaki as lots of Indian males did for workwear or as everyday casual clothing - and which is what he'd most likely have been wearing if and when he was the one who'd 'abused' my then infant body. (K.d. also comprised, of course, the standard uniform of British-Indian policemen at that time - it then being a closer to a muddish- or wet sand colour than the light creamy or almost off-white of today's police, even with both being equally referred to as the 'k-word'). This was, unfortunately, at a time when memory of my very first years of life and, indeed, my having been in India at all, have since been extinguished - if I was ever even aware of it at the time.
It will have been in my early-30s when I became aware of my taste (literally!) for swallowing spunk, preferably fresh and hot, straight from the 'tap'. I knew that I was becoming addicted because on certain early Summer mornings following a warmish night, I'd go out to a certain local park which had acquired a raunchy 'reputation', and search in the bushes there for any used, disposed-of rubber johnnies where m/f couples (or, less frequently, m/m) had fucked in the dark. It was obvious into which sex the rubber-covered cock had been thrust into by its smell, though those, the majority, which smelled 'fishy' I just had to mentally jump past where they'd been and get that precious male spunk down my throat. Even though by then, usually some hours after being shot, any jizz would have turned cold and lost its whiteness, I'd turn my face upwards then tip the rubber over so letting the contents slide down and out onto my waiting tongue, which would then be greedily guzzled down with great satisfaction. I'd occasionally see other guys searching for the same, obviously to do likewise, though that was seldom. 
From a gay magazine (long, long before personal computers and the internet), I made contact with an Indian guy, Vijay, who'd read in my own advert how keen I was on Indian men, so he wrote back. Contact! He lived in England, in Luton, about 200 miles from where I was then resident, though like me he'd also been born In India, he in then Madras (later re-named Chennai) while for me it had been Dinapore (now Danapore) in Patna, Bihar. He was about 5 years younger than I was at the time, and living with his English boyfriend, Steve. His English language was excellent, putting me to shame, and superior, in fact, to that of the great majority of English-born people. He spoke on the phone with no discernible accent. (Btw: I do - or did at one time - read, speak or manage with several European languages). Vijay and I exchanged face-only photos, he quite good-looking with a 'tache - and he at least hadn't been put off by my own looks. (I never got to see what his partner looked like). Vijay was too far then for each of us to visit the other, but we both did write frankly of our own tastes. No surprise that he didn't share my khaki fetish, though probably only one in a million guys do - or even fewer! He didn't belittle or mock either that or my particular attraction towards Indian guys, and we did share likings for certain activities - including, I was surprised and very pleased to learn, shithole-licking, both receiving and giving. 
He also liked to suck guys off and, most importantly, swallow their cum. When I told him about my habit of looking in parks for used rubbers so as to gulp down their contents he wasn't at all put off - so one day on the phone I took the plunge and asked him, fully expecting some hesitation or even excuses, if he'd mind sending me some of his own Desi cum to swallow. Without hesitation he said "Sure! Why not?" - which surprised, delighted and excited me enormously.
He also liked to suck guys off and, most importantly, swallow their cum. When I told him about my habit of looking in parks for used rubbers so as to gulp down their contents he wasn't at all put off - so one day on the phone I took the plunge and asked him, fully expecting some hesitation or even excuses, if he'd mind sending me some of his own Desi cum to swallow. Without hesitation he said "Sure! Why not?" - which surprised, delighted and excited me enormously.
Then just a few days later, I got through the post a small padded envelope. Guessing what it was, my hands were shaking as I feverishly tore it open. Accompanied by a note saying "Good appetite!" he'd actually sent me three used condoms, each tightly knotted below the open end. The note identified each by its colour - two contained Vijay's own spunk, one of which he'd tossed himself off into (while thinking of me, he said), another was also of his cum which he'd used while fucking his boyfriend up the bum - though, this being before AIDS, he said they only rarely used them, and never needed to with each other. And the third was a 'gift' to me from Steve - which touched me greatly, it being so generous, and which I would never have dared to ask for, though of course it was of less interest than that of Vijay's own jizz. 
I sat and stared at these three little 'packages' a long time, hardly believing it. Two with genuine Desi spunk! At that early stage of my life, of the not many guys I'd sucked off, none of them had been Indian, and here I was with what felt like the gifts of the Magi in Bethlehem! Of course they were now cold to the feel and none of them had retained the the pure white they'd have had on ejaculation, but I'd hardly have expected it. I couldn't there and then untie the knots and tip the contents onto my tongue, the plain sight being too valuable.
Then very shortly afterwards - it may have been just a day or two later - following my regular search of bushes, an unsuccessful one this time, when I returned home, perhaps out of frustration, I started drinking gin with, eventually, these rubber johnnies on my lap - or at least Vijay's two. As I drank I became more fixated on them and eventually decided to at least open Steve's contribution and drink it down. The knot was so tight I couldn't undo it. I couldn't wait any longer so I cut it open with scissors and, without hesitation, tipped it over into my mouth. As I'm sure you know, every man's spunk tastes at least slightly different from the next guy's, sometimes much more bitter than usual (due to high consumption of coffee, I'd been told). The taste of Steve's cum was fairly typical, almost nondescript. So that was his out of the way. Meanwhile I was getting myself increasingly pissed, with Vijay's more precious Hindu (as he was) cum before me. I'd vowed to keep both rubbers a lot longer in the untouched-by-me state they were in, but with the alcohol the temptation grew stronger and stronger as I looked down at them. Perhaps if I just opened the one when he'd fucked his boyfriend, at least I'd find out if he, Vijay, tasted any different with his Desi spunk. So, again unable to untie the knot in desperation I reached for the scissors and cut this one open. By now, increasingly pissed, I immediately tipped it onto my tongue, let it stay there just a few extra seconds - and gulped it down, trying to catch the slightest shade of difference in taste (perhaps with all that curry I expected he'd have eaten, or is that a stereotypical untruth?) But if there was actually some difference, with my then inebriated state, I didn't notice any appreciable difference between Vijay's taste and that of Steve. A bit disappointed. But by then, nearly pissed out of my mind with exasperation, I just had to make sure by tasting his other little load, the one where he said he'd been thinking of me while he spurted. And so, scissors again - which I so later regretted not having waited till another time when I was sober. It should have been a gift to have kept forever intact - I took his other and final load of Desi-Hindu spunk, once again too drunk in that moment to note any difference, even turning the rubber inside our and licking it clean. Oh, shit, shit, SHIIIIIIITTTT! Such a valuable chance all hideously wasted! I'd never stop regretting it. Of course I couldn't pluck up the courage to ask him for more even though the worst that could happen would have been that he might have refused. But I could only ring and thank him profusely for what he'd sent and pretend that I was keeping the rubbers so I could enjoy their contents at an 'appropriate' time. Hah! More more fool me!
It would have been just a very few months after this, maybe just weeks, when he stopped writing to me, his phone being 'dead' too). No explanation, his calls and letters just ceased, despite my writing and asking what was wrong - several times. He'd disappeared out of my life - forever. Very sad.
Some years later, I got the chance to visit Luton - even finding a park there where, again, there were used and discarded rubbers littered among the bushes! It must happen all over the country - or the whole world, probably?
I still had Vijay's address even though I had no idea if he'd still be living there (Unlikely - with or without the same boyfriend!) It was in a block of flats, his own being several floors up, but what really was the point of going up to the door and knocking? If he had been there there could well have been a 'scene'. So I gave up, thinking it best to move on with my life, which I did.
Over the ensuing years I've sucked off many, many more men - including even a few Indians. The one of them I have the best and most vivid memory of was a turbanned Sikh - bearded, naturally. But oh boy, was he tasty!!!
And I got hundreds more pics of Indians, including many hard-core porn. Stay tuned. Cummmmming!
