Muhammad

Thirty years ago it was a bright summer night, a white night, I could not fall asleep, tossing and turning in bed, although before that I had already searched our entire suburb on a bicycle looking for a guy or man walking alone. It seemed to me that I didn’t finish my search, that maybe somewhere on the streets someone was still wandering around, not settled, having missed his train. And at one in the morning I got out of bed again, took my bicycle and went to the railway station. In those days, the station did not close at night, people were sitting and lying on benches in the waiting room. So I went in there and lit a cigarette, looking at those sitting and lying in the hall. I spotted two guys there - one tall, just about two meters tall, handsome Caucasian, the other small, unsightly. They also couldn't sleep on the hard bench, the tall one went out to smoke. It was then that I talked to him and got to know him. It was easy in those days.

They turned out to be Dagestanis, Avars. They came either to get a job here, or to go to college. The tall, handsome Avar was called Muhammad. He was then 23 years old. I immediately invited both of them to my place, told them that they could stay with me, live there. And so the three of us headed for my house. It was two o'clock in the morning, the sun was already rising, and when we got to the house, the sun was beating down so strongly. Muhammad in soldier's uniform:

 

At home, under some far-fetched pretext, I separated the little friend of Muhammad, who was of no interest for me, isolated him in another room, and lay down on the sofa with Muhammad. All this was in the order of things in those days, and only later Muhammad told me that at first he did not suspect anything about me.

We lay down together, but on the first night we did not fuck, but only rubbed hard and pressed against each other. He had a hard-on. Nevertheless, after such a mutual frottage, he guessed something. He guessed that I liked him and that I wanted something from him.

He fucked me the next day. He fucked me in the ass. And in broad daylight. I don't remember how it happened. I only remember that I was very worried and at the end of the fuck I farted a little. "What! Are you farting here!" he said to me, laughing.

Muhammad stuck with me for two years. True, at times he went to his place in Dagestan, then again unexpectedly returned. Then everything was without warning - suddenly the doorbell rang - Muhammad arrived again.

I must say that Muhammad was not a fan of fucking in the ass. And in general he was not a lover of assholes. He was attracted to women. But it also cannot be said that he dreamed of them strongly. True, he once brought one to a room on the first floor. He fucked her, and I, hanging my head from the second floor, peeped. A disgusting spectacle! She lay like a mattress, and he screwed her. But, apparently, he needed it for the sake of prestige. Once I asked him, why the hell does your dick get hard when I touch it, if, as you say, you are only interested in women. He said: it doesn’t matter who touches, my dick always gets hard when someone touches it.

Muhammad during a walk in Leningrad:

In general, compared with modern Dagestanis, he was just Socrates. Modern people are short, dumb, not interested in anything, their speech is extremely poor. But Muhammad was interested in everything, he talked about something endlessly, chattered, asked something, played with words, liked to joke, made fun of us. Sometimes the bell at the front door downstairs rang, and we would go up to the window overlooking the porch to see who was calling. He would hang on one arm holding on to to the banister somewhere on the porch so that he was not visible, and then he would call again. Like trying to frighten us...Our house. Entry and doorbell:

We didn't sleep together like husband and wife. So, for a while we met in bed. But there were nights when we slept together until morning. And in the morning, having the morning wood, he fucked me in the ass, after which I happily walked to work with an ass full of sperm. Nice feeling! Morning, the birds are chirping, and I'm going to work, and the sperm strives to escape from the ass, it must be kept there ... I come to work, I talk to someone about serious matters, and I have sperm in the ass! “You are talking to me about some important matters, but you can’t even imagine such a thing that I was fucked in the ass all night,” I thought. Sometimes he crawled up to me in the middle of the night - “My dick gets terribly hard, I could make a hole in the couch right now.”

Yes, we lived together for two years, you can say ... And we fucked. I had to learn how to cook dinner, I had to feed meat to him. And in those days it was not an easy task! Somehow I managed. After fucking, he was hungry, sometimes at one in the morning it was necessary to pour out a bowl of soup with meat or fry a steak for him. I had to buy a new TV so that there would be some kind of entertainment at home.

And how he perked up when guests came to me! There were different kinds of guests, including foreign ones. He really liked this company. And I really liked that everyone likes him. One faggot managed to get him photographed in various poses in the nude. These photographs of thirty years ago remained. He also fucked this photographer, it seems. And the photographer licked his hairy ass. One of the photos taken by the photographer:

 

Muhammad had a sense of curiosity. He probably felt that the faggots valued him more than the straight ones. Because one day I was told that he was seen walking in the center of the city in the main cruising area. He heard from conversations where "such" people gathered. Apparently, he wanted to see if it would work. Although he did not cease to assure me that he did not need “all this” ...

It seemed to me that I squeezed everything possible out of the situation of living together with a straight man from the Caucasus. There could be nothing more. He needed to build his life, and not hang out with me and my company.

And he left. I saw him off at the station. We said goodbye. Just before departure, he sat down in the carriage by the window and began making playful winks at me. But when the train started, he suddenly rushed to the vestibule in order to say something to me again, but did not have time, because the passage to the vestibule was clogged with people and their luggage. So he didn't say anything.

But he said it later in letters. He went to his brother in Kyrgyzstan, where he worked at the state farm. It must have been very dreary for him there, and our life in my house seemed to be a bright and happy period. There are five letters of passionate confessions of friendship left. Terrible regrets that we can’t meet, that he can’t come to me in any way.

He only wrote that he was married in Kyrgyzstan. But without much joy about it ... Everything showed that he was eager to come back to me. Because:

"My best friend, of course, is you."