Written by: Amar Patel
Disclaimer:
The following story is fictional. The author (myself) is older than 21, anyone who is under the legal age (according to their country, state, or provincial laws) to view erotic material should immediately dissuade themselves from reading further.The story is fictional and similarities to events and persons (living or dead) are purely coincidental and unintentional. If you are offended by homosexual erotica or it is illegal for you to read such material. Please read no further.
Copyright:
The story may not be copied, distributed, in any way, shape or form without consent from the author.
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Message to Readers:
I am sorry for the long delay between chapters, life has been rather hetic lately. I got a lot of negative feedback from Chapter Two. My writing style does not follow typical outlines for stories, and I seek to create something meaningful and moving. If you are not a fan of longer stories, please feel free to continue reading or read other stories on the site. To those that remain, thank you for the support and letters, they're quite inspirational. Rahat has been especially delighted that people are taking time to learn about his culture.
I would also like to thank Gary, a retired serviceman (god bless him). He assisted me in developing the "American" (sorry no names until you read). As always hope you enjoy the read, and I urge you to send questions or emails if you are curious. A big salute to Gary, and to all those who have served or serving. Kisses to my readers.
Signed,
Amar.
P.S Please read the message at the end. ______________________
Chapter Three
A surge of excitement filled the streets of the bazaar that afternoon, typical Afghan diseases of gossip and exaggeration spread like fire in dry brush. American soldiers had come to survey the area, and Khaled dragged me to the bazaar to go see them. People stood in tightly knit circles talking in hushed tones, I heard stories of Americans single handedly killing a thousand men or how they stood eight feet tall. "No Laaf" was the common expression that was used to give some validity to their tales. Khaled was eager to listen to these tales, but some didn't indulge in the excitement of the crowd. Stern faced men sat puffing on cigars, ranting at whoever was willing to listen about their politics. To them the Americans were an occupying force, and there was a degree of truth in their words. Afghanistan had a history of being invaded, thrice by the British and once by the Soviets. Their attempts to spread their ways were met with adamant independence. The Americans were just another power trying to spread their ways upon us, and these men are scornful of that.
A familiar face greeted us at the local produce vendor, the son of one of Baba's many friends. His name was Anas, a slender man with a boyish charm. His black hair was always made up like the refined men of Iran, and he had a natural glow about him. He was a business man by day, and a dance by night. I disliked him catering to sexual pleasures of men, but his profession does allow him to have access to information. If anyone needed to know anything about someone else's business, Anas would be the main source of information. I held out my hand in greeting, but was met with a back shattering hug instead.
"Hello Jahan-sahib, I never expected you to be dragged into this excitement." Anas raised a brow.
I flicked my eyes to Khaled "You know us Afghans, one new sight and we are like children."
Anas nodded in comprehension "It is good to see you too Khaled."
"Assalamu alaikum (peace be with you) agha." Khaled bowed his head slightly.
"Now now , no need for such formalities. How about we sit for some tea and kabobs?" Anas gestured to a kabob stand.
"Mashallah." I could already taste the kabobs.
We sat and Anas ordered a rather large spread of food, I saw him dish out a wad of money without a single thought. I quickly dismissed it as I bit into a kabob, my mouth was instantly taken to bliss.
"So Khaled, I heard that you were interested in the Americans." Anas gave a knowing smile.
I saw Khaled's eyes light up "Have you seen any agha?"
"I have, they're a curious bunch. Tall like giraffes as the stories go." Anas chuckled
"How many are there?" I was getting curious myself.
"My my, even you Jahan-jan! Well, I saw seven including their translator." Anas' tone then became dark "I warned them to watch their step."
No sooner than he had said this that an explosion resounded in the distance, a thunderous bang that knocked me onto my back. I heard something else amidst the sounds of shattering glass, and that was the whistling of objects slicing through air and flesh alike. People began running to and fro like those people in Spain, horrific shrieks filled the air. Khaled pulled me to my feet, and our trio rushed to the scene. A crowd had already amassed upon our arrival, murmurs came from every corner of the large mass of bodies. Women held their children back from bearing witness to the scene that unfolded before us, and men mumbled ayats under their breath. People saw us approaching and cleared the way, and we began making our way to the front. An odor filled my nose as I approached, the stench of rusted iron made my stomach churn. Anas was at my side, and he described the sight perfectly... Allah have mercy. Bodies laid strewn and mangled at various distances, crimson was splattered on walls and formed seas. Glass laid brokem beneath empty windows, and shards of sharpnel glinted in the sun. We were joined by a police officer, and I asked her to clear the crowd and gather volunteers. Soon we were joined by several men, and I designated each person to a soldier. We would have to approach this systematically and with haste.
I approached the soldier closest to me, a young man gasping for breath. He had sustained heavy injury, and I was surprised he was even alive. His body was covered with lacerations, and every movement caused more blood loss. I sat and lifted his head, there was so much hope in his eyes. His condition was beyond my capabilities, and he saw that in my face. A tear ran down his blood stained cheek, and he reached into his uniform with all the strength he had left. He extracted what Americans call a "Dog Tag" and I opened my hand. Placing the object onto my palm, he gave a last gasp and capitulated to death's touch. I dragged his body into the shade, and a woman placed a white sheet over him. His name was Tristan De Rochefort, and I had a feeling that I would need his tag later. Slipping it into my pocket, I looked up to see that others had the same situation upon their hands. Our body count soon reached a total of six, five Americans and an Afghan. The policewoman approached me shaking her head, and Khaled placed his hand upon my shoulder in reassurance.
"Jahan-jan!" I heard Anas calling from afar, and I saw him waving his arms frantically.
Khaled and I looked at one another, and like mad men we sprinted towards an alleyway. Anas stood at the entrance, and he pointed at a soldier laying unconscious. His injuries were relatively minor for the most part, but I saw a rather large shard of sharpnel lodged into his thigh. I did not want to amputate his leg, and I called out for anything that could carry his weight. The policewoman managed to get a rickshaw, and we lifted the soldier onto the back. Anas agreed to stayed behind for burial preperations, and we made haste for the mosque. My work began immediately upon our arrival, Khaled sprinted to place the soldier under anesthesia. Donning my gloves and mask, I launched myself into the tedious task. My thoughts went completely to the procedure, and I took one last glance at the clock. By the time I looked up again, three hours has passed in an instant. My work was finished with a last stitch, and I leaned back with a sigh of relief. Khaled advised me to go relax, and assured that the soldier will be well taken care of.
Khaled was preparing dinner as I exited from the hammam, and I decided to check up on the soldier. I realized that he would be with us for some time, and his uniform was too torn and bloodied for use. I looked through my clothes, and finally found him a sky blue payraan tumbaan. That way, he could blend in without suspicion. As I carried the clothes to the clinic, I came to the realization that his name and appearance were a mystery to me. My thoughts had been focused on the procedure to the point that those things were trivial. He was fast asleep on the bed as I entered the room, his soft breaths were all I heard in the silent room. I laid his clothes upon a chair, and took in the sight of him for the first time.
He looked no older than eighteen, barely old enough to shave let alone hold a gun. Allah had taken much care in carving this masterpiece, and bestowed many blessings from head to toe. He had smoky black hair cut in a military fashion, and his warm honey brown skin gave him a swarthy appearance. I admired that adonic face of his, with those deepset eyes, those eyebrows like birds and flight, and that long nose that completed this arabesque prince. I found my eyes trailing down to those kissable lips, then to that slim muscular build of his. This boy belonged amongst the ranks of Farzan Athari and Khalid Kafi, any girl would fall for him if he sought to charm them. He muttered something in his sleep, and my mind snapped back to reality. It was sinful to look at him in that manner, and I went to my room. I felt tired, the long day was winding down and so was my body. I collapsed on the bed and looked up at the celling, my eyelids were slowly shutting. At last, sleep came like a crashing wave, and my last thought was what that boy would be like.
End of Chapter Three
I'm sorry for the long delay, and the shorter chapter. I promise that I will write more after I life sorted out. For the next Chapter, I'm debating between whether to write an introductory chapter for the American. So it is up to you readers! Let me know :)