Friday, November 2, 2012

The Arab Downstairs by Barry Lowe

It was one hot Arabian night.


Danny Melton lives in a depressed part of town that is a melting pot of various cultures and creeds. He likes it there because it’s cheap and cheerful, and close to the college where he’s studying. He rents the upstairs of a dilapidated terrace house that leaks when it rains, but he’s happy, not a problem in the world. Well, just one - Jasim, the Arab guy downstairs who has been belligerent and antagonistic ever since he caught Danny talking to his young pregnant wife. When on the night before his big exam, he can’t concentrate to study because of the excessive noise from a party downstairs, celebrating the birth of Jasim’s son, Danny has to pluck up the courage to enter the lion’s den to ask them all to keep the noise down. The reaction to his request is totally unexpected.


It was while hanging up clothes one day that I first saw my neighbor. The landlord had informed me that downstairs was rented by a young Arab and his wife and that the husband was some sort of laborer. He wasn’t quite sure exactly what he did for a living. He didn’t pry into other people’s business provided they paid their rent on time and kept the premises neat and tidy. My neighbor top-scored in all relevant departments.
He was working in a small area of the backyard that had been set aside as a vegetable garden. It was thriving under his maintenance and it looked as if he spent a fair amount of time tending it. However, it wasn’t the garden that drew my attention. It was the guy himself. Tall, dark and dazzling is a totally inadequate description.
His body looked as if it had been cast in bronze by one of the greatest of Renaissance sculptors. He had abs, he had pecs, he had biceps on triceps on quadceps on…plus he had the most delicious glutes a man could want. I know because he tended his garden patch in just a pair of skimpy shorts and when he bent over to pull a weed out of the ground or whatever it was he was doing – gardening has never been one of my strong suits – his shorts hugged his ass so tightly I was hoping the stitching would give way. No such luck. One fact couldn’t be denied, the man was a walking wet dream.
He stood over six feet, his arms and legs indications that he was fit and strong, and obviously lifted and carried great weights for a living. He was the personification of everything a magazine such as Men’s Health stood for, and put most of their cover models to shame. He could have been a Hollywood leading man, a top fashion model, a porn star, or a gigolo; instead he was planting vegetables in an inner city backyard obviously totally unaware of his potential. I can’t believe some enterprising agent hadn’t attempted to sign him up. Even if he couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag, he was drool worthy just bending over.
He must have sensed someone watching him because he stood to wipe his forehead with his T-shirt that was draped over the back fence. He caught me staring, so I waved and shouted ‘Hello, I’m your new neighbor.’ In what had to be a deliberate provocation, he spat onto the lawn while looking directly at me, his face anything but friendly.
I did wonder what had brought on his contempt until I noticed among all the sheets and other items on their washing line, his wife also pegging out their clothes. He had obviously assumed I was ogling her. He snapped a command at her and she hurried into the house, covering her face as she went. I had been too busy slobbering over him to even register she was around. Major faux pas.
Okay, I can take a hint. I finished pegging my clothes on the makeshift line as fast as possible before clambering back through the bathroom window to watch him secretly from behind the living room curtains, the second of only two spots that overlooked the backyard. He continued with his work, glancing up at my windows from time to time and, once he was convinced I was no longer ogling him, visibly relaxed.
I was hard in my jeans and found it difficult to refrain from dragging out my cock to relieve myself. I wondered whether that was permissible after he had made it blatantly obvious that he didn’t wish himself or his wife to be perved upon. Well, mate, if you don’t want men to jerk off while fantasizing about your hot bod, then you shouldn’t look like that. Yeah, I know that’s a real piss weak excuse. So sue me. I had to drain my balls and, in the privacy of my own mind, I’d use any visual material I could muster. I used my neighbor, or rather, he used me over and over again in so many different situations over the coming (and I do mean coming) weeks, I thought I’d wear him out. Such a pity it was all in my mind. 

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