Date: Sat, 28 Jan 2006 07:06:41 -0800 (PST)
From: Ron W. <adman602001@yahoo.com>
Subject: A TRIBE IN EAST INDIA - Part 2

After the festivities, I went back to my tent, which I had
erected (Oh, good lord.) at the edge of the village.  The
events of the day had not only left me exhausted, but
extremely horn-o-plenty, so to speak.  After witnessing the
ceremony, I watched hard (Dear Me.) on the side lines as the
naked men and teenage boys ate, drank, groped, fellated,
sodomized and stroked each other to orgasm (Oh my!).  I
couldn't wait to get to my enclosure, close the flap and
masturbate my brains out.

I tried to think of my spouse back home in America (I'm a
transplanted Brit), whom I had married with good intentions
several years previous.  We had always had a rough
relationship.  I always seemed to be intimate with her out of
duty.  After my two darling girls were born, it became more
and more difficult to do that duty.  She didn't appear to
mind.  I had never thought of myself as homosexual, but as
years went by, I found myself thinking often of young men and
picturing those I saw on the street without clothes.  I
masturbated daily . . . still do.  Since I am an
anthropologist, I found it quite easy to devise this little
trip to this primitive place that I'd read about in medical
journals.  Consequently, here I am.

The village's fermented drink was quite potent and I had had
my share.  After satisfying myself with my crafty fist, and
sticky with contentment, I fell into a deep sleep on top of
my sleeping bag.  Just before dawn, I was awakened by a
noise. I heard nothing further, so I fell back into my
stupefied dreams. I was awakened a second time just before
daylight by the sensation of something very like a small
cricket bat (Americans might say a baseball bat) poking me
persistently in the crack of my derrière. With difficulty, I
made an attempt to turn over to see what was happening only
to find a nude native man suspended above me by his strong
arms and legs, trying to gently probe my cheeks with his very
erect, very large and hooded penis.  I recognized the fellow
as the father of one of the inductees.  I could see him only
dimly by the waning fire light, but I could see enough to
know who he was.  I noticed him at the rites, because of all
of the men, he was the most handsome.  Like the others, he
had shiny black curls and a buff tanned body. At about
thirty-five years, he had the skin of a younger man.  His
penis was surrounded with a thick black bush.  There was just
enough hair on his manly chest to define the pectorals.  The
nipples nestled therein, were rose-brown disks accented with
pink nibs.  As I lay there drunkenly allowing him his mild
pastime, I myself became hard.  He smiled a beautiful
white-toothed grin as he rolled away from me.  By his side,
was one of the little gourd bowls of grease I'd seen at the
ceremony.  I lay still on my stomach and watched him
attentively.  He took a goodly portion of the lubricant and
smeared it on his giant member.  Then he took two fingers and
began to work them into my split as if searching for
treasure.  He apparently found what he was looking for almost
immediately.  The fellow first inserted two fingers, moving
them gently in and out.  Then three and then four stretching
me more open as he did so.  I began moving my hips in concert
with his ministrations.  My erection rubbed sensually against
the silky fabric of my sleep sack. After he had achieved the
effect he intended, he moved back on top of me . . . this
time he made no attempt to float above me, but lay atop my
back whilst slowly inserting his penis into my anus.  I
instinctively rose to meet him.  As he gently thrust into me,
he reached round with one hand and began stroking my dick . .
. there, I've said it! DICK! COCK! PRICK! FUCK!I feel so
free now.  I looked over my shoulder to look at his face.
His beautiful eyes were not closed.  He was looking straight
at me and licking his lips.  It didn't matter that neither
of us spoke the other's language.  We were definitely using
the same primer.

 I felt that I must be dreaming.  This couldn't be real.  I
gave way to my baser instincts (science be damned) and quite
literally gave myself to the man. The pain at first, was
excruciating, but lasted only briefly. The native man pounded
me for some time, flesh against flesh making a slapping
sound. Just short of ejaculating, we quite effortlessly
changed to the sixty-nine position (for having never even
been with a man before tonight,  I was really into it).  We
 filled each others mouths with our swollen cocks.  I was no
longer the staid, gray haired English scholar I had been
earlier the day before. We gobbled each other hungrily until
we once again filled each other . . . this time, our stomachs
as well as our mouths with thick white Cockney pudding.

I remained in the village for three more weeks.  I wore
nothing the whole time and never left my tent.  The males of
the settlement fed and bathed me as if I were royalty. .. And
they used me.  I willingly became their "Bitch".  Men and
boys came and went at all hours of the day and night.  I let
them do with me, whatever pleased them.  They sucked and
fucked me in the most original ways.  At times, there were
only two of us . . . sometimes an orgy ensued.  They may have
been primitive, but they were also most certainly talented.
They drove me quite literally out of my mind with satiation.
I have never been happier than I was in those weeks.

Nevertheless, the time eventually came when I had to get back
to my wife and children . . . and back to my work in the
"real" world.  I imagined that someone would come looking
for me as I had not communicated with anyone the whole time I
was gone. I didn't want them to find me as the person I had
become.  I will never be the same.  I have to decide whether
I will leave my family to pursue a depraved life of wonton
sex or stay with them and do so in secret.  I may end up
hating myself, but how can I ever go back?

This journal was written ten years ago.  I still take it out
to read it from time to time.  It seems I'm reading about
someone else.  Perhaps I am.  That was not me.  But I still
enjoy masturbating as I read about this wicked scientist I
once knew.

(She's calling me to dinner.)  The children are all grown
up.  Tess is married and Jill is in college.  Sara and I are
happy enough.  We are the best of friends.  We make no sexual
demands on each other.  I'm glad I made the choice I did.

Coming Dear!