Thankfully no Happy Ending
Published by nospam.cian December 3rd, 2006 in News and LOLOLO. Tags: cian, gay, morocco, naked men in, orange.2 weeks, 0 posts, £0.15 in AdSense and 98 visitors looking for ‘naked men’ on MSN Search arriving to Fidel Gastro’s (at least when I started writing this) - therefore if it’s naked men you want then it’s tales of naked men you’ll get.
A few weeks ago I was in Marrakesh eating mounds of yellow couscous, babbling Eddie Izzard-esque french to the local tat salesmen (’le sange est dans l’arbe‘) and being chased by hordes of vagrant children like a paedophilic Pied Piper of Hamleys. At the end of my trip I decided to try and chill out and visit a Moroccan spa known as a Hamman. Notice the word ‘man’ at the end - more of that to come.
![]()
Stop. Hamman Time.
Entering these Arabian baths on the outskirts of the Medina I was reverently ushered into the main bath by a large mustachioed local brute looking like a cross between Borat and Fatima Whitbread and instructed to strip immediately. Instantly the air of bucolic relaxation shattered and I felt like I had just been dumped at the entrance of Fox River Penitentiary and now I had to spend my waking hours protecting my ass. Literally.
+
= FutureLove PrisonSex
Debagging, but keeping my kecks on, I was marched to another holding area. This room was empty, caking hot with steam rising from the stone floor and seemed like it was to be my solitary confinement for my remaining time. The newly assumed warden barked ‘you sit’ and then left me on the floor without a bouncy ball in sight. After a few moments I decided that this must be the steam room and I’d be there alone for the next 1/2 hour.
I’d be wrong.
5 minutes later the door opens and sweet Jesus, I’ve got a cell mate. Not a friendly ‘hey we’ll be buddies and try and get over the wall’ but the big bad Gorilla in the Mist, my nickname is Haywire, ‘I think you’re got a pretty mouth’ and ‘please god don’t kill me with a sharpened comb’ roomie from hell, as in walks in Fatima sporting a smile, a pair of Speedos and a mustache.

I’m bringing SexyBack
I immediately sat bolt upright. He marches across the room, picks up a cheap plastic bucket from the corner and empties its contents of freezing cold water on my head. Images of Rambo First Blood came flooding back along with adage of ‘kicking someone’s ass the first day or being someone’s bitch’. Before I had a chance to shank him with a sharpened spoon, he had soaped his hands up and told me to turn over. This was it. It was over. But to my surprise he started to wash me bare handed and then got some scrubbing gloves and attacked me like a scrambled egg caked saucepan giving me a vigorously good rub down.
Inappropriately skirting and brushing no-fly zones he then moved to the massage section. This involved plenty of oil and basically wrestling-stroke-gymnastics-stroke-me. Vague memories of sitting on his knees, bent backwards with my head between his legs and then getting rolled into a ball with his face on my chest and then much slapping. At several points I was thinking ‘he could just stick it in me’ and I started to cry inside.
![]()
The Pacific Rim not to be confused with my specific ring.
When I opened my eyes it was all over and I was gingerly walking out to showers. I really couldn’t take much more gayness and it was at this point he got the oranges out. I almost bolted, blindfearing a Daily Mail front page feature with an orange in my mouth and a stocking over my head but decided to hold my ground in imbecilic defiance.
![]()
15 orange related injuries in the UK last year.
It was a stand off. Me in my pants. Him in his Speedos. I had nothing but my ripening sense of shame and he had a whole orange. Then out of nowhere he pulls out a knife. He brought a goddamn knife to a fruit fight. While I started to try and remember where to take a stabbing, he started to segment the oranges and began to advance upon me.
I shut my eyes. When I opened them he was rubbing me down with these citrus fruit loofahs like I was duck ready for the oven. After the marinading I went to the showers (by myself) and scrubbed myself clean both mentally and dermatologically for several minutes before running for the door, throwing fistfuls of Dirhams at the staff and into a cab back to the Medina with a single tear running down my cheek.
After a few days I’ve decided this was my most gay fruit related non-homosexual experience ever. If you can beat that please chuck it in the comments.


































A guy I know had his wang and scrote hand-washed by a wrinkled old guy in an open air baths in Japan. Apparently a great honour, though he felt thoroughly soiled.
I had a massage in Mexico where I asked Jose to pound me hard - real hard. I only realised the inappropriateness of my request days later. There was absolutely no homosexual undercurrent even when he was kneading my buttocks and then tucked my towel under my balls as he moved cheek to cheek. I was definitely wincing at points.
Did the old man give your friend a level of washing he never achieved before?
*blink*
He didn’t clean out the pipes. The fucked thing about this was that he was banging the old guy’s daughter - it was her idea for him to go to the baths with pops and spend some quality time together.
Nice.
Sweet Jesus. Do you think her father always checks out her potential husbands to make sure they have both balls and a fully functioning johnson?
Maybe he just wanted to get a handle on the situation
Weeping with pity and gratitude it weren’t me. And not a little schadenfreude.
No! Not the orange!
Chino-Malaysian buttock massage with illicit sneaky peeps at my wurzt - but not a valid entry in your competition as it involves fruits only metaphorically.
Had a near identical experience last week in Marrakech. I just wish i had read your blog before subjecting myself to similar levels of gayness.
I wasn’t given the citrus treatment, but i was told my board shorts were unacceptable and was duly issued a complimentary pair of yellow and brown Y-fronts.
I cried myself to sleep that night…..
you need to write, Cian!
And it is done.