Thursday, 24 October 2013

Where did my khaki fetish come from? A theory.





















Both these above pics of me are very old  - as you'll have gathered if you've seen my previous post. Both illustrate my slavery to a khaki fetish which I've had as long as I can remember, and which was consolidated into a concrete, all-consuming obsession by my experience at Boy Scout Summer Camp at the tender age of 12.                              
I'm fully aware that the majority of guys do not share it so I don't like to bang on about it all the time. I've only met a handful of others in my entire life who do have it, or something close to it. However, I do feel an overwhelming need to talk about it somewhere and this blog-site seems the ideal place to get it off my chest.
I ought to add that it's not a necessary requirement for my pleasures. Very nearly all the sex I've had does not involve my dressing up in gear like here or asking guys to wear it. If you've seen any of my comments on other blogs you'll have realised that I like man-sex in any way..


I was born in India just before independence, and because my parents were both of European stock we had a small retinue of native Indian servants, as had a lot of European families in India then. (I know, I know - disgraceful, but that was the manner of the time, which would later become totally unacceptable).
I have only ever seen one b/w photograph (long since disappeared) of these servants, when I was a teenager. There were maybe four or five (including a couple of 'ayahs'), all female - apart from one teenage boy of perhaps 14 or 15. That image of him in that photo was burned into my mind and if I had the photo available I'd post it here. But it's gone. Although it was in black and white he was standing, looking rather sheepish, wearing what was clearly khaki shirt and shorts, a common 'uniform' for men at the time, particularly for those doing lowly jobs, maybe a little less common these days. One of his duties had been to keep the toilets clean. I'd guess that he would have been what was then classed (and still is, in parts) as an 'untouchable'.                                                                                             

At this stage I ought to assert that as long as I can remember I've been aware that I was 'different' from other boys, only later being able to identify that quality as being gay. The presence of men has always given me that extra sexual spark of excitement, a tingling feeling 'down below'. I have little doubt that I was born this way and have long accepted it, though when I was younger I thought that it was due to being just a slow emotional developer and that it would change as I grew up and became attracted to girls - an expectation that was also fuelled by a desire to 'belong' and not be regarded as 'different' and an outsider. Of course it didn't happen and I stopped wishing I was something else several decades ago.


But if being gay arrived with (or before) my birth, where did the khaki aspect come from? It's absolutely sexual but it's inextricably linked to my attraction to men. (Seeing men in khaki excites me, seeing women in exactly the same colour does not. To me it's the most masculine of colours.) The fetish cannot also have been there at birth otherwise it would be far more common than it is - and, as I say, although I've met a very few men who have a similar stimulation in this area as I do, it's clearly a very rare occurrence indeed. So where did it come from?

I have no memory at all of living in India. My family came to England when I was just two years old. So I remember nothing of how we lived, our house, or those servants that we had.
The possibility I put forward is this. Did that boy, clad in his distinctive 'uniform', do something sexual to me when I was still a baby? Perhaps it was something only very slight, even unintentionally. Or could it have been something more overt which left a deep, indelible mark on my infant mind - and was to last me all my life? Of course I don't know, and I might be unfairly traducing his name (he could well be long gone by now, anyway), but it's just about the only plausible explanation I can find. None of my brothers share my fetish. I would certainly have noticed it growing up together with them. (I'm the only gay one.) They've always treated khaki as nonchalantly as any other colour - as I imagine just about all of my blog-readers also do - something I'm incapable of doing, at least in front of anyone else, without getting tongue-tied, stammering and blushing as it dredges up all kinds of fantasies and guilt feelings about my secret desires.

I've mentioned in previous blogs that I was persuaded to join the boy scouts when I was twelve, which turned out to have disastrous consequences. So many boys in my school class said that I should join - partly because my nickname was..............yes, 'Khaki', of all things! (Originating from a priest-geography teacher jokingly referring to me in his class as a little 'Khaki Bomb', because of my swarthy complexion, which the boys, being boys, changed to 'Khaki Bum' and eventually to just 'Khaki'). 
I was reluctant to join the scouts because it would involve wearing that khaki uniform which to me was like showing oneself stark naked in public, or even worse. (I hadn't realised until I did join that the feeling of unease was to be accentuated even more by the strict, but very curious, ruling that no underwear was permitted to be worn under the uniform.) Eventually I did succumb to all the pressures to join thinking that the organisation might not only help me to overcome my isolation, having no real friends, but it could reduce my attraction for khaki, which had been puzzling and frustrating me up to then. Initial experiences of wearing that uniform were really painful. For much of the time when I could I had to keep at least one hand in a side shorts pocket to hold down a conspicuous something that would have been the source of great amusement to the other boys if they noticed, but I struggled through. (Did I ever actually lose control of myself? I must have done, more than once, surely. But if so the memory has been covered over. It would have shown in my soiled shorts, which my mother washed, but I don't recall it ever being mentioned. But she would have been too embarrassed anyway, never mind me myself!) After only a few months in the scouts, having the double-trauma of getting a vicious caning at Summer camp in front of the entire troop, just after having had my virginity forcibly taken from me by some older scouts, who'd found my humiliation and embarrassment a great laugh (and so ensuring that a link between khaki and gay sex would be made cast-iron permanent in my mind, and which I've recounted in full detail in previous blogs) I was expelled from that organisation, totally unfairly, with, unsurprisingly, not only the khaki fetish considerably INcreased in intensity but also having acquired, along with mental scars, a number of additional fetishes including a taste for corporal punishment, both receiving and giving.


So, had all this started when our Indian boy servant set me on an incontrovertible khaki path? It's entirely possible that he had nothing at all to do with it. But the seed must have been implanted by someone or something when I was very young. Maybe it was someone else, another male relative perhaps - or a passing stranger? Very unlikely. But the only evidence I've ever seen of a potentially suspect source was that photo and the boy trying his best not to look directly into the camera as he stood looking half guilty, yet half cocky. I do wish that photo was still in existence. I'd have liked to have posted it here but I think it must have been thrown out when my mother died.
It's abundantly clear that something did happen in my very early formative years to make this inescapable and permanent link between my sexual desires and this colour. In addition to that I'm not sure why it should be that I've always found Indian men, particularly if they're slim and hairy, the sexiest men on earth. (Though I'm not moaning about that either!)

So it seems that the origins of my lifetime khaki fetish will be a mystery which I'll take to my grave. It would have been nice to know for certain. It's been niggling at me all my life and it's pretty well hopeless to think that I'm going to find out now, unless I undergo some kind of regressive hypnotherapy, which is a possibility. But it's not so vital to find out that it's become an all-consuming obsession. Besides, there's always the chance that discovering the origins may well kill it off completely - and that really would be a disaster.
I've never really wished I didn't own it (apart from during that disastrous boy scout phase) and when I have used it (in the literal sense) it's always enhanced the sexual pleasures I've had, even when I'm alone. I only wish that there were more guys around who shared the same heightened feelings of ecstasy which khaki has given me. It's caused me to spurt more spunk in my life than anything else, and for that I'm grateful and happy.

LONG LIVE THE KHAKI......!
























Thursday, 10 October 2013

Showing my face

I don't post blogs as regularly as I'd like to -  not at all helped by my computer, during its being taken away for repairs, coming back with all my many hundreds (thousands?) of stored pics having been mistakenly deleted.  This has caused me great disappointment, not to say anger, particularly as many of those pics I've lost I'd intended to post here and comment on. But it's been impossible to retrieve them - including not just the many cock and bum shots which I'd accumulated over the years, but also precious scout, army, Indian MiK and many more. But it's no good dwelling on what isn't there any more and I've got to move on. 

Just to show I'm still here, and I'm flesh and blood (and I've given deep thought as to whether to show this) here is an extremely short self-taken recent video clip of myself out in the English countryside supping a pint while stopping at a pub while hiking around in my trademark 'uniform' of khaki shirt and shorts. To tell the truth, I wasn't aware that the camera was in video mode and had intended just to take a photo, but at least it shows me in some sort of motion, if only briefly.






It could be that I'm recognised by this brief appearance, most especially likely by some in Luton, north of London, where I regularly went in these clothes, rather like on safari (as I was once told by an Indian young chap there). Though if I was hunting it was for Desi cock. Sometimes I was successful, though not always. (I don't go as often these days) But what the hell. If I'm recognised so what?

I'll try to do another blog before too long if I can find some appropriate illustration of what I want to talk about.

Thursday, 1 August 2013

My willy is exhausted - and sore!


I'm letting it sleep a while before calling on it to serve my needs again, which are many and frequent. I've been tossing myself off so many times over last few days that I'm getting a headache. I only wish I'd kept all the spunk produced by these balls (which look full again) in a jar so I could glug it all down and replenish and rejuvenate myself. But too late - it's gone now.
   The initial cause for so much activity was that a very good friend who follows my blog and knowing my fetish (among many) for clothes khaki, allowed me access to some of his private collection, which included many featuring khaki drill shorts with flap back pocket. I know that this doesn't mean much to a lot of you, but I can just say that these really opened the floodgates and I just had to ease the internal pressure somehow. It would have been unhealthy and dangerous to hold it in. Trouble is that the pressure is only relieved for a short while before it builds up again - so you can imagine how my right wrist has been working overtime.
     At night when trying to get to sleep I have these images floating in my mind, along with the usual others of Indian guys (esp. hairy ones - Sikh MiKs get me really excited), army, scouts, punishments/public humiliation, father/son, brothers, group orgies.....and several more - all flitting before my eyes and keeping me awake. So in order to get just a bit of rest I've had to get my cock shooting my plum-loads out over and over again. 

       Oh, shit - my willy's stirring and waking up. You didn't sleep for very long did you? Want to serve me again? Okay, up you get - but I'll have to be gentle with you as the soreness is going to become painful if I'm not careful.

Sunday, 21 July 2013

My bumhole - as it is now.

It was a bit unfair of me, in my post about shit-hole licking three days ago, to show a picture of my bum which was many years old, one which I have actually posted before.
So, to remedy that, here are a couple of pics I took just yesterday afternoon when I'd got myself half-pissed. Some of the couple of dozen I took show my full face (with a stupid drunken grin) but until I get pissed again I'm not brave enough to show them off. Maybe some other time.




And so, my friends - my question to you is essentially the same as before -
                          "Would you give this a long, slurpy lick, please?"

All comments are appreciated, especially those from dusky Desis, and most especially from any hairy Indian guys. If your pink tongue just made the slightest contact with my shit-hole I wouldn't be able to stop myself from shooting off - in fact, even now just thinking about it I'm getting so fuckin' randy my cock is pointing up at my face, throbbing like mad, begging to be touched. Oh shit, I think I'm gonna.....Oh fuckin' CHRIST!!!!!!!!.....

Friday, 19 July 2013

Shit-hole licking is such a fantastic feeling!

I do so LOVE to lick a hot bum-hole, especially one surrounded by fur and, most of all, the hot, hairy hole of a Desi guy like this one. I love to hear my own tongue rasping against his hair and skin - and to hear his moaning and heavy breathing as he enjoys the ecstasy of the feeling, surely the greatest sensation of all other than the act of cumming itself. I love to have my own hole licked but it takes me so 'high' that I usually can't last very long before I shoot off, without having myself or him actually touching my cock. I've often got to tell him to stop because the feeling is so intense, but once I'm on the inevitable path to spunking where there's no going back, it becomes almost impossible to say anything - apart from:- "Ohhhhhhh....yeah...yeah.....YEAH!......UH!......UH......uh........uh.............uh...!!!"
So for that reason I get very nearly as much pleasure from licking the other guy as being licked myself, and watching and listening for the effect my expertise (acquired over many years of 'practice') has on him.
    Of course it's not just licking. If I do it right I can get the sides of his hole to relax enough to let my tongue inside him, either the tip or, if we can get it right, my entire tongue - to lick the shit out of him. (Sometimes his cries of pleasure can get so loud I've got to stop to tell him to be more quiet!)
    I've never understood why there are still guys around (so many!) who won't indulge in this activity, usually on the grounds that it is too dirty(!) - though what I'm pretty sure the truth is, is that they don't want to admit to anyone else that they like it. Of course it's dirty! It's fuckin' filthy and that's whay makes it such great fun!.

Wishing you good shit-hole licking, my friends - particularly you Indian hotties!







Oh, and here's my own hole, taken some years back. Would you lick it?.........PLEASE!






Sunday, 9 June 2013

One of my very many army fetish fantasies

If I'd been serving in the desert army and had to wear khaki shorts all the time like this guy my cock would have had a permanent raging hard-on as well. My 'weapon' would be always at the ready - though with an unfortunate tendency to fire off too early. But I'd have it re-loaded and 'cocked' for action again before you could say "LICK MY SHITHOLE!"



Btw: I hope no one thinks that I'm a pervert for having this unusual craving. It's all the fault of the Boy Scouts who got me caught in this web of khaki fetishism at a tender and most vulnerable age, and which I've never been able to shake off all my life, though I've tried and tried. If anyone's got any ideas of how I can get it out of my system all suggestions are welcome.

Monday, 4 March 2013

An attractive position - for so many things!




 Couple of pics of a sadhu at this year's recent Kumbh Mala.
If only I could meet a guy who could do this in front of me. I'd love to stand over him and drop a huge gobbet (or more) of spit into his bum-hole. Then I'd lick his balls, then give his nob-head a spit-shine and then finger-fuck him before licking all round and inside his hole. And after all that, still using my tongue, I'd try my best to scoop the shit out of him. We'd both end up feeling SO fuckin' satisfied - he'd be feeling clean and I'd be well-fed!











(I'm dedicating this post to 'Anon' who earlier today posted a very kind comment on my previous post here. It was fun to read. In fact my own hoosie gave a twitch when I saw it - but then I like being spat at every bit as much as I find it a big turn-on covering another guy's naked body with my own spit. Hope you like this post as well, Anon.)