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It was something of a coup, as a journalist, to get an interview with the ambassador of a Middle Eastern country. I had been working on it for months, putting out feelers and befriending staff. It was a bit like infiltrating the embassy, like a spy might do, but I wasn’t troublemaker: I was in the business of demystifying things. That’s what i do. I talk to people my readers would find interesting and get some background. That’s what you have to do: tell people something they didn’t know but might have wondered about.

The Arab world is a mystery to most westerners. They look different, dress differently, have a different religion and different attitudes, codes of conduct, moral values even. But underneath it they are human beings just like you and I.

This particular country was very old-fashioned western terms, including their treatment of women, who had few rights and were essentially still just cooking, cleaning and raising children. I looked into it and decided I might be able to get the ambassador talking about that if I didn’t alarm him the first place. I looked into other aspects of personal relations and found it was dangerous for couples to show affection in public. You hear about westerners getting jailed for having sex on the beach, and somehow it seems more extreme in such countries. Of course, you’d be arrested for that in western countries too, but just for a few days before it came to court and then you’d get a fine and some embarrassing publicity, but nothing to really worry about.

As for the LGBT crew, in the Middle East they could be jailed for life, flogged or even executed. Not that I was thinking of trying that kind of thing.

Anyway, time went on and eventually I was granted an interview. The ambassador’s name was Mr Ibrahim and I wasn’t allowed to use his first name. It was Mr Ibrahim or Ambassador. And he was only available in the evening, because my request for an interview wasn’t regarded as anything as important as work. That could be good thing, I thought. Maybe he would be more relaxed and open up a bit.

I reported to the embassy at 7pm and was shown into his private quarters. It was palatial and very white: gleaming walls, marble columns and dazzling cushioned furniture, including one very swanky-looking bursa escort white leather sofa.

We sat in semi-formal chairs around a coffee table and he politely refused my request to record the interview on my phone. I had brought a notebook, so I had to do it the hard way.

I started him off with questions about his background and his rise through the diplomatic service. He was pleasant enough, almost chatty at times. He was a distant relative of his country’s royal family and connections were very much the key to success there.

He was wearing traditional robes and even a headdress. I ventured down that road.

“No, we don’t feel the need to wear a suit and tie,” he said. “This is formal attire and if you want to wear your traditional garb, good for you.”

“Can I ask,” I said carefully, “Are you wearing western attire under the robes.”

“My underpants are from Marks and Spencer,” he said with a smile. “But you are not interested in an ambassador’s underwear, I think. That way lies indiscretion and in my country such things are not tolerated. Homosexuality… it’s a delicate subject and not for this interview.”

“I wasn’t thinking of sexuality at all, actually,” I squirmed.

“But you would be interested, of course you would,” he said. He lifted the hem of his robe and showed me his lower leg.

“Socks, he said. “Because it is cold in England. And yes, I am hairy. Most Arabs are. Women like it. Hair is an animal thing. I am hairy all over. I shouldn’t show you here, of course, but if you would like to see my chest and back…” he studied my face for a reaction and what he got was a blush. Was he flirting with me?

He stood up and walked to the leather sofa, sat down and patted it for me to join him. I put down my notebook and pen and walked across the deep, shaggy carpet.

“We should take our shoes off,” he said. “Bad for the carpet.” I followed his lead and soon I was sitting there with the ambassador with naked feet.

“You have probably heard things about Arab men,” he said. “Rumours that we are all bisexual. It’s like in Ancient Greece and Rome. Having sex with another man is not necessarily frowned upon. As long as you are… what people call ‘a top’. If I penetrate görükle escort a man, I am dominant and he is submissive. That is okay. For me.” I was desperate to get back in control of the conversation and because he had led us down this path, I decided to stay down it.

“So if you…”

“So if I fucked you,” he interrupted, “that would be okay. If anyone ever found out, that is. And I would like to fuck you.” he looked at me deep and hard.

“Really?” I stuttered.

“Despite what the laws say and what society says,” he said, “It’s just sex. And sex is just playing, unless there is procreation involved. You don’t have a vagina, do you?”

I was blushing so much I thought I might burst.

“Not the last time I looked,” I said, aiming for a casual, blasé tone, but feeling like a wuss.

“I’ve embarrassed you,” he said, sitting up straight. “I do apologise. Now, you wanted to know if I am hairy all over.” He stood up and pulled his robe over his head. White M&S briefs. Hairy thighs, hair bulging from his pants. Hairy chest. He turned around. Hairy back.

“I’m a gorilla,” he said. “That’s what the gay sites call it. Isn’t it? Don’t tell me you’ve never looked. Never been curious?” I fidgeted nervously.

“I want you to stand up and put your hand in my briefs,” he said evenly. “Come on. I’ll make it easy for you.” He reached down and took my hand and pulled me up. He was very tall and my face was at nipple height. He took my right hand and placed it in the waistband of his underpants. I was overcome with lust. I slid it down into the hairy den of iniquity. I touched the head of his erect cock. I felt I should pull out, but I didn’t. I took his shaft in my hand. He put his arms around me and pulled my shirt out of my trousers, then off over my head.

“Suck my penis,” he said softly, seductively. “Kneel and suck me.”

I slid down his hairy body, over his protruding middle-aged belly and my lips found the head of his cock. I parted them and took his knob in my mouth.

“Good, he said breathily. “Suck me off. I won’t cum in your mouth because I’m going to fuck you.” The words were electrifying. I took his furry balls in my hand and adored them.

“We will go in there, in the bedroom,” bursa escort bayan he said, pulling me up.

Hs bedroom was dark and the sheets were black satin. It was a seducer’s bedroom I took off the rest of my clothes and he pushed me onto the bed, then slid the sheet down and I slipped in. Into the sex zone, the dark, slippery sheets where sex lurked. He lay on top of me and kissed me strongly. His hands held mine down. I was powerless as he rubbed his body against mine. His cock rubbed against mine, then he pushed down and slid between my thighs. He leaned over and took a tube of cream from the tables. Raising himself, he looked down on me and spread cream on his knob and then put a finger in my crack and lubed me too.

“Raise your legs,” he said firmly. I did so and felt somehow liberated as I exposed myself to him. He lay flat on me again, enjoying the power and making me enjoy the submission. Then he manoeuvred himself into position, his cockhead against my hole, and pushed. My sphincter yielded nervously, then gratefully as his big, hard cock entered me. My legs were around him, my heels on his back. He took my ankles and pushed me further up onto my back. And he thrust powerfully into me.

“A man penetrating a man,” he said. “Nothing wrong with that. I like it. You love it. I can tell. Say it to me.

“I love you fucking me,” I said quietly. “I want you deeper. Just fuck me.”

He pounded me, his glorious blunt instrument thumping into my insides. I heard myself whimpering with pleasure at ever thrust.

“Now turn over,” he ordered, and I was on my knees in a trice.

“Beautiful,” he said as he located the slot and pushed into me. I was in ecstasy, mounted and fucked by this wonderful, strong, determined, hairy animal. He fucked me and fucked me and fucked me and I whimpered and yelped and said “Oh yes!”

And then he gathered all his energy and gave me one last enormous hump as he pumped his seed into me.

As we lay together afterwards, he dozing and I trying to rationalise it all, he said, “You can’t stay the night. But you can stay another hour or so if you wish.”

“I would like that very much,” I said, smiling and feeling like a girl. “Are you going to fuck me again?”

“Of course,” he said with a smirk. “But first we are going to lick one another’s ass. You go first. Lick my ass.”

Of course his ass was hairy and it felt so wrong and yet so indisputably right and my nose entered his cave and found his anus.

“Lick my ass,” he said encouragingly.

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