Never to be worn with underpants...........

It's one thing for which I've had a lifelong gratitude to my Catholic Boy Scout troop for teaching me - despite what happened on one Summer camp weekend, having been humiliated and abused for laughs by four older scouts, followed by an undeserving, very public, vicious caning on the backside (shorts not lowered, but nothing worn underneath, of course) by our priest/troop leader in front of all the other boys, and then my being unjustifiably expelled for life from the Boy Scouts - all resulting in me, before that weekend, being a shy, religious, innocent 12-year old kid, becoming corrupted and mentally 'scarred' for every single day of the many following decades of my entire life (though the fetishes that I've carried ever since have given me enormous 'satisfaction').  

The 'Me' of today.

Photo of me, Khakibum, licking the back pocket flap of a pair of khaki drill shorts, an item of clothing that has played such a huge part in my entire life, with an enigmatic and profound mixture of affection, loathing, embarrassment, phobia, pride and, most importantly of all, a fetish - a situation for which I can largely owe to the Boy Scouts Association, due to the traumatic events which happened on one weekend at Summer camp on the Yorkshire Moors in 1959, and which thereafter transformed and uncontrollably affected me forever, despite my consequentially being expelled from that organisation with a lifetime ban.

The possible very original source of this fetish, pre-dating my brief spell as a boy scout, has been addressed in an October 2013 blog post of mine - "Where did my khaki fetish come from?"


I often wonder if my ongoing desires represent a subconscious, cleansing yearning to return to the state of the innocent lad I was before these scouting events happened and an intense wish that I hadn't come out of that week of Scout Camp soiled and corrupted (in a number of ways) at the hands of a group of more senior scouts who took it on themselves to have humiliating 'fun' with me, coupled with an element of what was seen as their revenge (for something I hadn't even done), resulting in their having pointed me in a certain direction regarding my then imminent adolescent development - and all capped with a vicious and relentless caning on the backside by the scoutmaster-priest, givng me the thrashing not just of my own life, but much more than most boys would ever experience. Those four scouts will never have had the foggiest idea what their actions did to me and my life. If only I could trace them now to tell them, though I can't find them all these years later.

However, because I know that very few, if any, guys share my feelings in this way, I am perfectly able to consign it all to the background, and can assure all my followers that my particular leanings are not essential for importing into all my other varied sexual tastes - though for my own satisfaction, my fetishes may just 'pop up' in an occasional mention. But I'm not going to force the subject onto others for whom my own attractions are minimal or non-existent.
Just thought I ought to make that clear.

Fathers and sons naked together - Part 2

So, resuming after the 'interruption' of my last post when I got over-excited, and I erupted at the subject of naked sons with their real dads, above are a few more pics as a warm-up before getting onto the hot and steamy subject of their having sex with each other.
By the way, I'm wearing the same khakis as I was wearing before, the evidence of my previous excitement still evident in the crusty, white-ish, sweet-smelling patch on the material. I've got about 20 pairs of khakis, (my favourite fetish clothing, as I've mentioned several times in previous posts, as well as its possible origin*), around a dozen pairs of shorts, the rest being either long army-surplus with big flap pockets or workwear pants. All are always worn 'commando', without anything on underneath, of course. Why cheat myself of the pleasure of feeling the drill fabric against my cock, balls and bum? Some of the pairs have never been washed - I like to let the 'soiling' (in whatever way - front, back, underneath) remain undisturbed, the unwashed ones really smell terrific. When I'm tossing myself off, often shooting my hot, creamy spunk into a flapped back bum pocket (usually on the shorts, other times the pants), I sometimes like to put a pair of khakis over my head and breathe in the heady male body smells of the past........Fuckin' heaven! Christ, I've got to be careful! I'm getting excited again. My willy is standing up hard from out my open-button fly, its smooth, shiny pink head screaming for attention. Must try to wait just a little while longer!

 

*To mention again a likely origin of my khaki fetish, although the memory of what actually happened to me has been lost in the mists of my very early life, my best guess being that sometime in my first couple of years as a baby in India I was abused in some way by some khaki-shorted male - and that most likely could well have been the only such individual in my family's small retinue of servants which, as Europeans, we were 'privileged' to employ - ridiculous now,  of course, but this was in the late 1940s, the last years before India gained independence from being a British colony. My mother had a photograph of these half-a dozen servants we had, the women in their saris looking at the camera with at least semblances of smiles, and one boy, perhaps early- or mid-teens, sheepishly looking down at the ground, clad in (even though it was a black-and-white photo) what were obviously khaki shorts and a khaki shirt, in those days a fairly common workwear for Indian men in manual employment. I may be entirely wrong, but this particular young man seems to have been the most likely origin of my unusual fetish, definitely unique to me within my family. He was a 'dalit' (an 'untouchable' as such 'lowest-class' individuals of Indian castes were then called) - and used, unfortunately at that time, for the most menial tasks, the lowest of which for us was to empty our toilets - so he very likely could well have had opportunity for instigating intimate contact of whatever kind he wanted and with who he did it to, all the while being clothed in his khakis. I've often thought if the actual origin of the mystery could be eked out by my undergoing regressive hypno-therapy, for no other reason than to satisfy the curiosity which has intrigued me all my life.  If he was indeed the source of my lifelong predilection - and it surely was from someone rather than from something - I harbour no resentment at all for what he did, whatever that may have been. In fact I'd only want to thank him for giving me this very rare extra dimension to my personal, innermost pleasures, my sole regret being that there aren't more of us around who share this proclivity.

Back to fathers and their sons - and now, specifically:-

I've never understood what's so 'wrong' about this. As long as the son is of consensual age, what's it got to do with anyone else? If you're religious then your Church will certainly condemn it - so don't do it! Simple. If, however, you're not religious, the Church will still be saying the same thing, but tell them to get out of our lives! Also, the law might (and will) say that it was wrong too, but the law also says that in, unfortunately, far too many countries that all gay sex is wrong - as well as it having been the case at some time in history in just about every country in the world. No, if the father wants to fuck his son or suck his cock, or the son his father, if they are both willing, let them get on with it - and please post the film so we can all watch!

It's not as easy to tell if if two (or more) guys really are father and son(s) as it is to see that two or more really are brothers (Easiest of all with twins or triplets, of course). In spite of what is claimed, one has to necessarily take a lot on trust, and those of us who are true fans of father-son action have to go along with it to fulfil our fantasies. But some I can believe. The upper one below obviously consists of two brothers on either side - but with who? It could be their father, though being on a 'daddy' site makes it less than likely. Though the one underneath that I'm inclined to think could be genuine. Both have very similar facial features. However there's the lingering question of why is he using a rubber johnny? Maybe the father is rampantly insatiable for anything on two legs with a cock!

It's a really huge turn-on for me. The thought of a son sucking his father off and satisfying his curiosity on the taste of the very spunk that he was created from. Or the the father sucking off his own son, feasting on the spunk that he himself was instrumental in creating. The wheel cums round full circle.
One of my favourite activities to indulge in (both receiving and giving) as well as to watch, is bum-hole licking. It seems perfect, natural, parental affection for a father to lick his own offspring this way. However, it really must be one of the ultimate acts of love, respect and dutiful subservience to see a son lick his own father's shit-hole. It's such a beautiful way in which he can acknowledge and demonstrate his father's seniority. Wow! That really does it for me - and if I'm not careful I'm gonna shoot right now!

(Just saved myself from going over!) Anyway, true father-son photos and videos are, sadly, a rarity - and I'm always scouring the net to see if anyone has posted a new one. Not so with brothers, which is much more popular, and which will be the subject of my next posting. It remains to be seen if I can finish writing that one in a single sitting, though I doubt if my will-power at denying to touch myself will be able to hold to it.

Fathers and sons naked together -Part 1.

I do love to see closely-related males unashamedly naked together - not necessarily having sex, though when they are it really gets me worked up something wild. I know some find it off-putting. At one time the thought of it at had the same effect on me - disgusting and 'sinful'. I no longer feel that way - as long as everyone involved is old enough to make his own decision.
I'll just say a few words this time about fathers and their sons. My next posting will be about naked brothers.

I've just picked the following at random from the internet:-

Aren't the above beautiful as plain, honest photos?

But they don't always both have to be naked:-

Fathers and sons in a state of 'excitement' aren't that easy to find, but here are a few which I find stimulating:-

Oh, Shit and  Jesus Fuckin' Christ! I've gone and got myself so excited that I've just shot my load onto my khaki shorts - and I'd been avoiding touching my todger as well. Oh well, have to come back or do another post on this subject that gives me such a boner.

To be continued...................

A recent internet find that hardens my hoosie.

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

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......!

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.

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.

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!!!!!!!!.....

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!

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.

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.)

Don't they make a colourful bouquet?

Some of the rubber johnnies I've collected from under bushes etc, usually after a warm Summer night. Many of them had relatively fresh spunk in them (still white) so I never waste much time. Straight away I tip the contents into my mouth and feel the satisfaction of the plum-juice from an unknown man sliding down my throat. Then, on bringing that day's collection home, after licking them inside out, just to be sure I'd got every drop of spunk, I'll wash them and keep them tied in a rubber band like this. How many different cocks were involved I don't know, but it's fuckin' great to dream about them all - different sizes, some white, some black, some brown, hooded or skinned. Even if the rubber johnny had been up a female (as was obviously the case from the smell of some of them) at least it could only have been a cock that was rubbing up on the inside of each of these - and that's good enough for me!

It still fits

In this photo taken just a few days ago you can see, at top of picture, me wearing the very original boy scout belt I wore all those years ago - and they are still being used to hold up my khaki shorts!
I've described in previous blogs how on a certain day at Summer camp I had my shorts roughly yanked down (underpants weren't allowed to be worn in my troop) by a group of older scouts who then proceeded to take great pleasure in humiliating me till I felt I could have died of embarrassment - and which, unknown to them at the time, was to lead on, a couple of hours later on that same fateful day, to my being severely caned on the bum by our priest/troop leader and being expelled forever from the scouts. That day turned out to be one of enormous significance in my sexual development with all sorts of repercussions regarding inclinations and fetishes - and ever since then I've felt it would be a gross betrayal of my inclinations ever again to wear underpants with khaki shorts. (You may just be able to detect that from a very close examination of the above.)

Wish a bum like this had been mine! - and I bet very many guys feel the same way.

    (A pic I collected from another site).

Hairy bums are the ultimate pleasure when a guy is sitting on your face. Feeling your tongue tickled by those hairs as its tip reaches for that hole, teasing it to relax a bit and allow it to enter - while all the time the guy who owns the bum is moaning and groaning above you with the ecstasy you're giving him ("Oh Yeah! Don't stop!") - AND it's such a tasty feast for you, licking, slurping and chomping on that hot, tasty, fur-surrounded hole. If this isn't paradise I don't know what is!........ mmmmmmm.....scrumptious!

Scout Law 10

Scout Law Number10 states - "A scout is pure in thought, word and deed." ................Yeah, right! - and I should know!

This is the sort of thing the randy little buggers get up to. Disgusting, isn' t it?

And even a playful belt across the bum has sexual overtones.....................
 

I bet Lord Baden-Powell never had the faintest fuckin' idea what he'd started - but thank you anyway, Sir!

Revealing myself (well, almost) in another of my fetishes.

And all these pics taken this very morning!

Got the idea for this blog in seeing a posting of a video on Xtube yesterday of a guy being filmed going outside on the road wearing nothing but a white plastic mac, which he opened while playing with his cock. (You could see through his mac anyway, that he was stark naked.) It got me excited because plastic macs is yet another of my fetishes which, like nearly all the others, originated during my brief period as a boy scout. As rainwear we were told to try to get a green or brown anorak but if that was too expensive to buy a plastic mac, which I did, allowing others to see that you were wearing a scout uniform underneath. And so  this seed of a fetish was sown, to go along with khaki shorts, flap back pockets, army rubber groundsheet/capes and other articles of male wear, which have given me great tossing-off pleasures over the years since. The great thing about plastic macs, as with army rubber rain capes with their heavy masculine smell, is that it is so easy to lick up the spunk from off them. On warm but rainy Summer nights I like to go for a walk wearing either a plastic mac or an army cape, but with my fly undone underneath, my nob-head brushing or gliding gently against the plastic or rubber material. It hardly needs saying that it's often too difficult to stop my cock from spurting, leaving a white trail along the wet path.

     Here's a couple more pics taken this very morning, one showing my shithole again, still badly needing a fuckin' good licking. (Please, someone!) 
                         
 I WILL reveal my face properly in a future blog (so many others already do, so why not?)

                                                                                                                         

I'd like the first time my face is revealed for my mouth to be full of Desi cock. It may not be easy to achieve, especially in England, to find a willing Indian or other Desi who will photo or film this particular Daddy sucking on his hoosie. Maybe he might have a friend who will do it for him? But it would be so nice to have the photo or film shown to the world. He wouldn't have to have his own face revealed if he preferred not to.

One opportunity to have it done is coming up the week-end after next when there'll be the annual international festival in Luton (England) - a town which has a very large Desi population.
I used to attend the festival regularly, but not in recent years. Getting there and back on the train has always been a problem, the big festival day being the Sunday, which is also a day subject to rail diversions and delays. But when I have gone I've always seen gangs of Indians and Pakis steadily getting more and more pissed on cheap beer as the day progresses. I'm sure that getting one or two of them at the right time might find them in a co-operative mood for a bit of fun - especially if I offer a little financial incentive. Anyway, if it happens, this blog will report  and show it.
(Btw: I don't suppose any readers of this blog who live in Luton - and there must be some - have any ideas and can offer a suggestion here?)

Can't get this stunning pic out of my head.

I loaded this Indian guy's pic from off another web-site several years ago - and it's haunted me ever since.  For me this is close to perfection. To have that dark hairy-holed bum sitting on my face, suffocating me, would be fuckin' heaven! It hardly needs saying that I hope he'd also let me suck on that dark-bronzed, shiny nob for a very long time - at least long enough to have his warm, thick, Indian man-juice spurting into my mouth and gushing down my thoat.
   If he recognises himself I do hope he won't mind me loading this here. (Of course I don't know his name and I'm not going to divulge even the username he used on that site at that time). He's got a set of 'equipment' he ought to be extremely proud to show off, and let others look at and gasp with envy - male parts that would be worthy of a god! I certainly wouldn't be slow to get down on my knees to worship him! Would any red-blooded male refuse to do what he wants with this if the lucky owner offered it? No, I thought not..

My shithole loves being licked.

Apart from actual cumming, I'd have difficulty in choosing between the next 'greatest' feeling I experience.
One of them is the moment I am sucking a guy's cock and getting the first notion that he's shooting into my mouth. That initial sensation of the warm cum on your tongue or, even better, hitting the roof of your mouth or the back of your throat is indescribable. (By the way, why don't all guys give a verbal warning that they're about to cum? It's only considerate, allowing you a second or two to prepare to receive their tasty gift.)
   But the other supremely magnificent action is having my hole licked. If heaven is only a fraction of this feeling I want to go there. Sensing a rough male tongue slurping on my bumhole, hearing it rasp as it goes up and down, is just fuckin' amazing. I've written before that I find it unbelievable that some guys not only refuse to do it to others but won't even let me do it to them. It's just beyond my comprehension. Have they any idea how fantastic it feels?
   I experience the pleasure of being rimmed so intensely that I sometimes can't hold back from cumming even though neither my hand or the guy's hand has touched my cock. It's great but sometimes I wish I could restrain myself so I could savour the feeling longer.
 My fantasy is to have my hole licked by an Indian guy while another Indian let me have his big brown cock in my mouth. But I reckon if that situation ever came about I'd shoot my wad within seconds. Even thinking about it has taken me to the edge now,,,,,,,oh FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111111111

    Now with a damp, sticky patch on my shorts I'll just finish off by saying that if I had the money I'd pay two Indians really well to get on each end of me as I've described, while another guy films us - and let me post it here on this site. I wouldn't mind my face being shown - I'd like to open my mouth to show fresh, white Indian spunk on my tongue before I swallowed it. Many thousands of others show their faces already, so why not? It's nothing to be ashamed of.
But that'll have to wait. If I could I'd even think about flying out to India where there must be millions of good-looking, willing, brown-hooded-cocked Indians ready to earn a bit of extra money, right?
But it'll just have to remain a randy dream for the foreseeable future. Pity!

Am I a pervert for getting hard at these? Well, so what? Can't help it - and I fuckin' LOVE it!

Though I'm a Brit I am aware of the reputation of India's Hindu RSS movement. Should I therefore apologise for saying that the sight of these high-kicking khaki-shorted-guys gives me one hell of a boner - especially the happy-looking youngster at the front of the top picture, the guy on the left in the second (I love his skin colour. Wish I had it.), and the incredibly handsome husky chap at the front of the last one. Christ! If I ever saw them in the flesh - say spectating at on one of their marches through cities - I'd be cumming through my throbbing stiffie within seconds. Meantime I've got to hold myself off from shooting while I have their images in front of me and I imagine my hands reaching up those damn sexy shorts, up those hairy Indian thighs, up further until........Oh, Jesus S-H-I-T!!! I forgot to put the box of tissues beside me!

Oh, and by the way, it would be terrific to have the guy in the last pic fuck me long and hard up the bum while I had his loose-fitting, roomy shorts over my head, drinking in the musty, sweaty odours left in there of his hairy cock and balls and of his own native brown Indian bum with its dark, hairy cleft and hot hole. Oh, fuckin' HEAVEN!!!