The Alternative

So there were some students sitting at the little cafe near the student dormitory and they asked me to join them to eat chicken and rice with their hands.

I did so, and the conversation got around to sex. Of course the students are curious about that; although they've seen plenty of donkey-punch and ATM porn, like most modern teenagers, these kids for the most part haven't even TALKED to a woman.

I gave them some stories of eating 19-year-old girls assholes out, and jerking off on girl's faces in restrooms of nighclubs, you know, elements of a normal sex life, and they asked me if I'd ever tried a camel.

No, I admitted. Although a few of the women that I'd taken home from bars couldn't be described as angels, there were no camels amongst them.

They aaid that in fact there is a word for an old broken-down camel that's not good for anything except fucking anymore. I can't remember it. Arabic still sounds to me like an old person clearing their throat.

One of the boys offered to drive me out to the family camel barn and give one a try. I admitted that it had been a while, so I agreed.

The camel was indeed a sad sight, old and smelly and missing hair in patches here and there. In fact it could barely stand. But when they lifted its tail, I was introduced to a world of magic and wonder. I rubbed up an erection and inserted it into the mositest, most pleasant honey pot I've ever encountered. The camel's spasming nether regions quickly brought me to orgasm, and for once I didn't have to worry about pulling out or protection.

I tell you, this is 100% better than real women. The camel doesn't bug you, nor does it require a sushi dinner and a few martinis. It only wants a pat on the nose and a handful of straw. Man I'm glad I came to this country.