Page 47 of Under the Arabian Sky

Dressed only in his ezar, he waded knee-deep into the mesmerisingly blue water, giving a soft moan of delight. “The temperature is just beautiful. Come, put your feet in the water. Feel how wonderful and cool it is.”

I took off my boots and ghutra and agal.

I lifted off my kandura, and dressed in my ezar as Tariq was, I stepped into the turquoise stream.

Instantly the chill of the water invigorated me, the relief from the heat rising up through the soles of my feet and cooling my entire body.

I moved to take a step deeper into the water, but there are the stream’s edge Tariq held up one hand. “Before you go any further, let me do something. Sit, please.”

“Sit?”

“Yes.”

“Here, on the rocks?”

“Yes. Sit on the rocks and rest your feet in the water.”

I did as Tariq wanted, sitting myself down on the rocky banks with my feet still in the stream.

Kneeling before me in the water, Tariq proceeded to take my right foot in both his hands and began gently rubbing.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m washing your feet.”

“Why?”

Tariq grinned at all my questions. “Does it not feel good?”

“It feels… amazing. But I… I’ve never had anyone want to wash my feet before.”

“In our culture, washing someone’s feet is the ultimate gesture of respect… of selflessness… of kindness. Our feet are the work horses of our body. They are the engines of the weary traveller. They are the wings that carry us to our destination. Being kind to someone’s feet by washing them, is a gift of kindness from one heart to another. Of course, I’d prefer to do this with scented oils and a bowl of jasmine petals, but I think the secret water of the wadi will do just fine.”

“Oh yes,” I whispered, letting my head roll back on my neck as his thumbs and fingers massaged my sole and delicately delved between each individual toe. “Yes, this will do just fine.”

He focused on my left foot, resting it against his lap.

Beneath my heel I could feel the bulge growing between his legs.

I pushed my leg out farther and kneaded his crotch with my foot.

He gave a soft, almost inaudible moan and began massaging my toes, his fingers strong as my tired bones creaked and crackled blissfully in his hands.

I eased myself back on my elbows.

His fingers explored every curve and contour of my foot.

He pressed deep into pressure points in my sole that seemed to unlock a sense of serenity and satisfaction in my body all the way to my back, my shoulders, my neck.

His hands made long, sweeping strokes up my calf muscle.

I groaned louder as his fingers ventured higher, caressing the tender spot behind my knee.

I gave in to my cock’s need to thicken and rise, letting my crotch grow unabashedly hard between my legs.

As it did so, Tariq reached higher still, his hand rubbing my inner thigh until he could no longer resist the urge to take me.

He rose from his knees and took hold of my wrists, pulling me upward. “Let us swim.”

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