Indian curry-hot.

I've never made a secret of my lusting after good-looking Indian men, and here's a beauty who gets me tingling in all the right - and 'naughty' - places. I could just eat him up, every last fuckin' morsel of him. But before getting to that I'd wanna give him an all-over sloppy licking, every square millimeter, every fold, crease and hole (hairy or not), of his appetising body.

In a previous posting I've wondered about the origin of this particular strong feeling of mine towards Indian men (at least before they become big-bellied in middle age or later, as so any are prone to do, though it's not peculiar only to Indian men of course) a passion which is different and deeper in nature than for any other  nationality. Though I have neither memory or evidence of it I've suggested in a previous post that it just may be that because I've also had, uniquely in my family, a lifelong fetish in a certain direction, it could have been that when a baby I was sexually 'abused' (?) by a certain young male servant my family had. Being of European extraction, the family used to have a small retinue of Indian servants (this was prior to Indian independence in 1947) and there exists or existed a very old photograph, long since lost, of about half a dozen servants which my family employed - all female, I think, apart from this one sheepish-looking young lad (maybe of 15 or so?) looking at the ground as though not wanting to be photographed, while the others, all looking straight ahead, were either smiling or trying to smile. I remember being told that he, the boy, (and maybe some or all of the women too) were 'dalit' or 'untouchables' i.e. from the lowest class of Hindus. That mattered to my family not one bit, but what was striking about this photo, although it's many decades since I last saw it, was although being black and white (and rather faded at the time) was that this young man was wearing the very clothes I've had such a fetish for for my entire life - which was to be the critical reason for my becoming, after much persuasion, a Boy Scout in a disastrously doomed attempt, in the forlorn hope that by immersing myself in having to wear such a uniform, I might finally rid myself of this attraction which was having such an obsessive grip on my mind - with the result that you all know of, namely of solidifying, consolidating and making permanent this particular and rare (though not unique) fetish of mine. Anyway, this young man in the photo is dressed in the manner which was pretty much standard for most working-class males in India at this time, and indeed through much of the inter-tropics world - and is still seen there - 
 - though in the photo the lad's shirt is hanging loose outside the waist of his shorts. 
It's only a thought and an attempt to rationalise how I got where I did with my feelings. I may be entirely mistaken, of course, in which case I humbly apologise to the young man's memory (if he's still alive he must be around 90 by now) but if he ever did abuse me, he being the only male outside my family with whom I would have been close to, it could well explain why my being gay has been so indelibly linked with a fetish which is/was certainly not shared by any other member of my family, my brothers or my father. That's my theory, anyway. There must be some explanation for it - and it's the only possibility I can come up with,

So enough of that for now. Let's return to the thought of just enjoying the delicious taste of Indian men. Mmmmmm!