“With images of the great Sahara and swarthy Arabs in robes steaming up my imagination, Paul and I packed our bags and flew to Gibraltar to cross the Strait and begin our adventure.”

I really feel that my marriage of seven years had been sustained by our daring sexual adventures overseas. There is certainly joy in our weekend lovemaking, content in our lovely suburban home; the comfortable, familiar sex routes Paul and I have traveled over the years give us warm pleasure and relief from our jobs. Yet it is only outside our safe little home that sex becomes a wild and special event. On the

islands, our sex is unharnessed, like a wild animal. As we offer our bodies to the hot sun, our pleasure becomes boundless; we shed our inhibitions as quickly as we do our clothes.

And so it is that Paul and I seek the foreign, the exotic, the unknown as a challenging yet liberating force in our relationship, which is so loving I was delighted when, over dinner one weekend, Paul announced that it was time for a vacation. He wanted to go somewhere neither of us had ever been; he wanted something unusual. We had explored most of the United States, Mexico and Europe and were ready to extend ourselves. We both enjoy the sun, so we decided to try Morocco, hoping that the combination of French and Arab cultures would give us a blend of the exotic and the refined. With images of the great Sahara steaming up my imagination, we packed our bags and flew to Gibraltar to cross the Strait.

Drunk with daring, we boarded the large catamaran that sails from Gibraltar to Tangier. The day was clear; the wind pushed the sails all the way out. I looked at my fair-haired husband leaning out of the porthole, his firm ass filling his khaki pants most pleasantly. I stood behind him and let my hand brush across his backside, then fall between his legs.

I contemplated an evening of unbridled sex. The fact that I had no idea where we would be sleeping that evening made me particularly ravenous.

As I stood behind Paul, my eyes danced playfully over his compact male body: the patch of dark auburn hair on his nicely developed chest; the pubic hair below, which slightly covered his pink, circumcised penis; the large ball sac that hung beneath, red and heavy. I was getting moist again at the thought of sex in a foreign place.

Between the daydreams and the blue sky, I came to with a start and realized that we were getting ready to disembark. After gathering our luggage and pushing ourselves through customs, we grabbed a cab to the train station. The cabdriver spoke only Arabic, and we had a difficult time communicating until a tall toothpick of a young man dressed in a white djellaba approached, flashing his tour-guide badge, and proceeded to give the driver instructions. He quickly offered his services and got into the front seat.

Our train to Fez was not to leave until evening. Contrary to Paul’s plans, we were stuck for the day in Tangier, and interesting city but not one on the agenda. Tal, our guide, insisted on giving us a tour. For lack of a better plan, we checked out baggage and went off with Tal.

Touring the old city, we zigzagged through the medina, the marketplace. Surrounded by its heady smells of fresh spices, dyes and leather, I was becoming aroused. We stayed close to Tal, who led us through a complex maze of narrow alleys where we viewed with fascination the shoppers and works as they scurried to and fro. We took pictures of a dark handsome man who sat crossed-legged on the ground, hammering away at a filigreed bowl of silver. He stared at my blonde hair, which I had tied up in a bun to keep it from falling in my face.

Paul watched his admiring glances with pleasure and led me to a small store where they sold silks. I let my hair down and tied it at the back of my head with a vermilion scarf. The owner complimented me in thickly-accented English on the beauty of my hair. I caught Paul glancing furtively at two young women who were covered from head to toe in fine, clinging silk. Their strange garb exposed beautiful cat-like eyes but covered their bodies completely. Knowing Paul, I knew that he was unclothing them in his mind. Amid the smell of patchouli, the brilliant colors of the silk, the harsh sounds of the salespeople bickering in Arabic, I felt a tingle of excitement go through my body. I looked around and realized that I had no idea where I was, where I was going

or what was going to happen next. My adrenaline continued to pump as we walked for hours, satiating our senses with exotic stimuli.

By afternoon we were exhausted and asked Tal to take us to a hotel so we could have a drink and a wash. We went to a lovely Moorish building and sipped mint tea near a pool surrounded by palm trees. Tal, who seemed to know everybody, procured a room for us, we really needed to wash up and rest. After thanking him and settling out bill, we followed a large dark-skinned man to a little bungalow adjacent t the patio where we had been sitting. He opened the door for us and stepped through its low threshold, gestured towards the bed, and then bowed and left immediately.

No sooner was the door closed then Paul pulled out his cock, which was already hard and dripping with precoma. I didn’t say a word, I was just as horny as he was. I unzipped my jeans, pulled off my blouse and immediately went for his erection. Passion engulfed us. My crotch was sticky, full of my own sex juice, and I was logging to be filled. I leaned back over the small bed, my nipples hard, as Paul entered me, his thickness pushing into a willing opening until I felt his hipbone move against mine. His mouth sought mine and I could taste the sugary mint still on his lips.

We began fucking rapidly, thrashing against one another; Paul’s cotton shirt rubbing my breasts, and his hand found a nipple and pulled on it. I grabbed his ass and pushed his cock deep inside me as our flesh melded together. Banging out the love beat, we forgot thought. The day’s sensory cornucopia played in my head right up to the moment of closure we felt with this hard, strong coupling.

Paul pumped harder, harder, frantically fucking me. The steel spring in my body, which had been winding tighter all day, moved through my limbs, tightening my joints and centering in my pussy. I never needed to be fucked so much in my life.

Displaying the same single-mindness with which he had entered me, Paul now seemed dete1mined to make his fucking last He slid himself into my cunt as I spread my thighs to their maximum width and felt my body being lifted with each stroke. Parts of the day flashed through my mind as Paul continued to slide his  cock feverishly into me. I remembered the eyes of all those men on me as Paul pushed us to imminent orgasm.

I clutched his cock more and more tightly with each stroke. Paul responded by pulling out to the sweet orange-red tip of his cock and putting his shaft deeply into me.

I could see him trying to stave off orgasm. I was so unwound I began to wail; I was driving my body to the limit. I could smell myself now, and the beginnings of an orgasm were brewing inside me. I couldn’t wait. Finally, Paul could hold it no longer. A tidal wave of come spurted rhythmically into my pussy, and I screamed and shivered. The spring seemed to snap and uncoil inside me, and I pressed against my husband’s body as I came. The wet heat of his load dripped along the inside of my pussy as my contractions shook us. We fucked with such intensity that I came again. This time my orgasm was so profound that I shuddered and collapsed, I was totally spent, happy and smiling.

We showered and came downstairs to thank our host. We boarded our train while the setting sun lingered on the ancient walls and the afterglow of sex continued its calming effect.

In Fez, an age-old city set in the foot-hills of the Atlas Mountains, we stayed at a thirteenth-century palace that had been converted into a luxurious hotel. Our room afforded us a view of gardens rife with topiary, shrubs, fountains and flowers everywhere.

We awoke refreshed and toured the city. Fez turned out to be even more exotic than Tangier. There was less European influence and more of a feeling of the East. We shopped for carpets, enjoying the incredible show the salesman made of displaying for us each magnificent piece of handiwork. We selected one with a rich royal-blue field and had it sent home, both of us giggling about how we would inaugurate the carpet in front of the fireplace with a good long fuck.

We had dinner in a great restaurant that had music and dancing. Sitting on large pillows on the floor, we ate Bastilla, a traditional Moroccan dish, and a sweet pigeon pie filled with raisins, dates and pine nuts. As I watched a dark-haired woman sway her hips and writhe sensually beneath myriad veils to the strains of high-pitched yet pleasing music, my senses seemed to be reborn. My hand- some husband sat next to me on the floor smiling. Our knees touched.

I watched him enjoying the dance, his white teeth flashing his all-American smile, the only fair-skinned man in the restaurant. I sipped the heavy, sweet wine we had ordered and fantasized about taking Paul right then and there, his carrot- colored cock-head lying sweetly on my lips, the music playing as he enjoyed me sucking him to a delirious orgasm.

All the stimuli had come together and relaxed me, and my mind continued to wander toward other pleasures. I took Paul’s hand and placed it on my thigh; he grinned his manly grin and called for the check. We headed back to the hotel, eager to satisfy our lust.

The garden outside the hotel, though, was beauty personified, and it held us there. Colored lights splashed over the fountains; dozens of them were sychronized to spray in rotation. In the quiet darkness, we enjoyed listening to an incredible mélange of splashing sounds. It was a veritable symphony of water-so exquisite. Paul took the opportunity to kiss me as I sat enthralled by the splendor that surrounded us. His kiss led to a passionate embrace as his tongue worked its way to my ear and down my neck.

We sat on a bench covered with shrubbery that hid us from the view of the hotel and explored each other with hands and tongues. Still dressed but now burning with desire, we continued our erotic play. Paul’s hand found its way beneath my dress and began to massage me through my panties. I grabbed his hard cock through his pants and held it as it grew.

A crescent moon was rising, and a slight breeze swept through the garden. The fragrance of roses drifted past us as I sighed and felt my legs fall open to allow my husband easier access to me. His hand worked its magic in the stillness of the desert night. I unzipped his pants and put my hand inside them, my fingers winding around his throbbing cock.

Paul rested his head on my shoulder and gently kissed and licked his way down my breast. Although we were aware of the danger of being caught, our inhibitions were like sand to the wind. We continued our guarded but delicious love- making right there on the bench. The water symphony played on as I succumbed to the pleasure at hand. It had been so long since Paul had stroked me to orgasm with his hand; it is close to my favorite thing. I relished the moment. Amid the fountains, bougainvillea and flowering cacti, I felt a flush of heat on my cheek. I drew a deep breath as my body quivered and I came on my husband’s hand.

It was a long, serene flight of ecstasy. Paul’s cock became engorged in my hand as he continued to move his fingers across my clitoris. A tingling sensation spread across the top of my head; my mind felt energized. I prayed that he would never stop the lovely little gentle strokes on my pussy, and, excited by my overflowing passion, Paul became more intense in his handiwork.

I gripped his cock, which was wet and hard, and stroked it in earnest. Paul responded by taking one of my nipples in his mouth and pushing me to another climax. I squeezed my legs together as my body quaked at this second shot of rapture. A happy feeling swept over me as my head fell back and I gave in to the wonderful feeling of love in the mystery of the night. This was paradise!

I was suddenly aware of the cock in my hand. My dear husband had been so attentive to my needs, and now I wanted to give him the same pleasures. I bent down and took his hard cock in my mouth. Tonguing the sweet pre-come that had dripped down one side of his shaft, I licked my way down to his balls and back up to the crown of his cock. I parted my lips and took his cock in my mouth. Paul’s cock-head is plum-shaped and much larger in circumference than his shaft, and this had always fascinated me. So I took a moment to suck on it and twist my tongue around it. Paul began to moan, and, knowing we might not have a lot of time left, I began to bob up and down fervently, taking more of his cock in my mouth each time. It quickly brought Paul to orgasm. His pungent male seed shot into my mouth. I held his balls and milked his shaft of every drop, savoring the taste of his salty come. I swallowed his offering and sat back up none too soon, as we heard voices approaching. We tidied up and went to our room.

Our final outing was to Ourzate, which lies at the edge of the Sahara. We stayed at a little inn, and Paul made arrangements for us to rent a Landrover and camping equipment and drive into the wild. We employed a guide, rented a tent and decided to spend an evening in the desert. The guide understood what we wanted and led us some 200 miles into the Great Sahara. He knew of a small oasis where we pitched our tent, a great circular domed affair totally covered with netting. He laid out carpets and served us a luncheon of flat bread, cheese and fruit. We opened a second bottle of wine and mineral water for Haj, and he retreated with a small tent to the other side of the dune. He also carried a shotgun as security in case we ran into roving bandits.

I looked out over the endless stretch of sand and could imagine Lawrence of Arabia sweeping by at any moment. Paul had snipped down to the loincloth of a swimsuit I had bought him some time before, and he lay on his back, eating grapes. The heat of the sun made me feel so amorous, I straddled my husband’s chest, feeding him grapes. He looked up at me, his sandy hair falling across his eyes, and I felt his passion rising. Here we were totally removed from all that was familiar and safe and comfortable, and yet I had never felt this relaxed in all my life. We had traveled halfway around the world, and our fantasies were now realities.

As I pulled away his loincloth and lowered myself onto his sturdy cock, I swore I could hear the strains of Bolero in the background. With the drumbeats growing and merging with one another, we built to dizzying heights. My eager, hungry pussy enveloped Paul’s cock and created a new rhythm with every stroke. We fucked for what must have been hours, stopped to sip wine and water, then started anew.

Paul took me in every position we could think of, going slowly, our bodies melting together and fully experiencing each new angle of love. Again and again we journeyed toward orgasm and retreated, staving off the moment with incredible restraint. We would separate and circle the tent, feasting on each other with our eyes. Dancing around for a while, we would begin stroking ourselves and each other, then come together, and Paul would bury his raging hard-on in my creaming pussy.

Time had stopped. There was only desert sun and palm trees. Paul was no longer Paul; he was my hot, sweaty sultan of sex and I his loving companion. Together our bodies were perfection. Nirvana descended upon us as we became one. My body began to shake with emotion from the thoroughly satisfying orgasm that began at the tips of my toes and streaked up my body until my very hair tingled. We were in the very heart of the heat.

Paul came, desperately clinging to me, his cock spewing far up inside me. It seemed that the sun had turned everything orange as my liquor joined his. Never had I seen the sun so bright. Never had I had an orgasm so intense.

Like the dunes before me, the ecstasy seemed to roll on endlessly. That perfect, cloudless day turned to night as we fell asleep, with Paul’s cock still snugly inside me.

That night under the stars, we went to the well of desire again, drinking in the sweet nectar tenderly and much more delicately.

In the morning, we returned to Ourzate and began our journey home, but not before making plans for our next trip. We are thinking of a safari next, the sounds of roaming wild animals mixing with our own love calls — who knows? I know for certain that as long as there’s another journey ahead, our sex will continue to be inspired. Vacations are liberating for us. As soon as the travel brochures come out, I get a tingling in my loins. Until then, there’s a certain carpet from Fez awaiting its maiden voyage.