Fist of Gold

By Habu

The gay male fetish of fisting is typically depicted as a leather man extreme act, but to the young archaeologist, Kyle Kendrick, visiting his former Oxford University mentor and fisting initiator, Sir Geoffrey Bentham, at a Mali gold treasure dig in the decade following World War II, it is a refined art. It’s also necessary preliminary preparation for Kyle to have a satisfactory sexual experience. As rare as the practitioners are of the art, Kyle meets an Italian businessman on the plane to Mali who is a master of it and a Native Malian hunk who practices it as a ritual. Both they and Sir Geoffrey are willing and prepared to give Kyle what he needs.

This short story delves into the erotic nature of the fetish at the less-extreme end of the spectrum.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BarbarianSpy
• Release date: Mar 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781925190731

Habu

Habu is one of the pen names of a former supersonic spy jet pilot, intelligence agent, male model, movie actor, and diplomat. A wild youth in South East Asia was spent enjoying whatever sexual opportunities came his way, and much of his gay male writing is about recalling incidents from those days and inventing ones he’d perhaps have liked to experience. He now leads a very quiet and ordinary life.Check out our blog and get free stories. Feedback and reviews are always appreciated.

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WARNING: This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. Contains graphic gay male sex, multiple partners, anal sex, nongraphic violence, and gay love and romance, all of which may be considered offensive by some readers.

All sexually active characters in this work are at least 18 years of age.

This book is copyright © habu 2016

habu asserts his right to be known as the author of this work.

Published by BarbarianSpy in 2016

Cover design © S Bush 2016

Cover image: all manipulated: Grass Copyright:ptnphoto, Fist Copyright:McAndy

ISBN: 978-1-925190-73-1

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review or article, without written permission from the author or publisher.

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this e-book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this e-book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All characters in this book are the product of the author’s imagination and no resemblance to real people, or implication of events occurring in actual places, is intended.

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Fist of Gold

habu

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Contents

Fist of Gold

About the Author

BOOKS BY HABU

Fist of Gold

I think it was the rumble of the engines of the Air France S.O.30 Bretagne commercial airliner flying into African airspace, reaching out for a landing in Bamako, Mali, that brought up the memory as I dozed. Or maybe it was my returning to Africa for the first time since departing from Morocco for the Anzio Invasion eight years previously. Or the images surfaced by looking at the animated slender hands of the Italian businessman sitting beside me. Of maybe it was all three.

The rumble was reminiscent of the sound of the German tanks grinding by too close to us as we hid beside the narrow macadam Italian road. And the chatter was Tony, another GI of Italian origin, egging me on to rise from our hiding place when the tanks were abreast of us. Come on, Lieutenant; they won’t be able to see us from inside those tin cans, I heard him saying, waving his hands in front of me. The sound of someone standing in the aisle of the plane, opening and closing a briefcase in the overhead bin—snap, snap, snap—translated into the machinegun fire that mowed us both down.

After that I was in an entirely different world, a world of white and red and moaning and pain. A hospital ward in Naples. Of pain and more pain—in my thigh and torso and shoulder—and the maddening repeat of You were the lucky one, when I damn well knew that Tony wasn’t the lucky one if I was still alive and he wasn’t. And of Miranda, the nurse, with smiles and encouragement, laughter, cheery English accent, and kisses and more when I regained my mobility. And of Tom, the