Date: Mon, 11 Aug 2003 15:39:13 +1200
From: arthur <rochopa@xtra.co.nz>
Subject: bird of paradise       adult/youth

				BIRD OF PARADISE

				By Arthur



Authors Note:

This story is based on fact although some of the situtaions have been
changed but the locations and language are true. To assist with some of the
terms used I will add bracketed translations to clarify for the readers.

As background to the information and sexual appetites of the people
concerned and for verification as to my sources, I lived in Papua New
Guinea for just over eleven years and speak Pacific Pigin and four local
dialects as well so the language side is factual.

During my time there I travelled and worked in most regions so am very
familiar with the locations and customs of those areas.

Most of the names are changed as my memory for them is a little weak but
I'm sure it will not detract from the story.

If this story gives you the impression that at 24 years old I was a bit of
a whore and mainly a bottom, then you're right as well as most Papua New
Guineans are tops although as you will see not all of them.

This story is not for commercial use and the copyright belongs solely to
the author, if you are underage or have trouble facing the realities of
todays society then go look at something else but check your own closet
first.



Now just what the hell am I doing here. Every plane I get on is smaller
than the last, look at this one, a Cessna 402, some bloody Luftwaffer pilot
in the drivers seat and my head still feels like a bass drum
concert. Shouldn't have had that last scotch with Lilly last night, or was
that this morning. Damn my mouth feels like cotton wool soaked in kerosine.

Who, how, and what?

The who is easy,( I think) My names Fred,(well not really but thats what
everyone calls me because they keep forgetting my real name) I'm just over
25 years old, 5'8" 155 pounds, blue eyes, auburn hair cut short and two
teeth at the front I don't like, not quite buck tooth but a bit larger than
I like.

I've been living in Australia for the past four years, just running around
the place and working when I needed to. My last job was in the American
National Club in Mcquarie Street in Sydney as a cocktail barman and then
one day I got this telegram from one of my old, well in fact only lover.

It appears he had had enough of the glam lights of city life and had taken
a position in a hotel in Papua New Guinea about two years ago. Well it
appears they wanted a new bar-manager and he thought of yours truly so had
sent off the telegram in the forlorn hope of catching me in Sydney before I
decided to move once again.

The arrival of the telegram was just at the right time as I was also
becoming tired of the fast life of the city and as I was born a country boy
it looked like a good deal. Plenty of sun, sea and sand, just the thing for
a warm blooded boy like me.

I must confess that at that time the thoughts of sexual desire had not
raised their ugly head (pun) which in itself was unusal for my libido. I
was not really the whoring kind, I just didn't know how to say no. Well the
message told me the tickets were waiting at the travel center and to get my
little ass on the plane as quick as possible. Well of course the telegram
was three days old so I had missed the Wednesday flight and had to wait
until the Friday one. No problems, gives me time to say bye to my friends
at the club and have a couple of goodbye drinks with Lilly and her cousin.

Of course that little goodbye drink lasted until 6.45 am Friday morning and
I then remembered I had to book in at the airport at 7.30am. Well there was
only one thing left to do, tip the bottle of Johnny Walker up and drain it,
call a cab, then Panic.

The flight to Brisbane was in the luxury of a boeing 727, not bad for a
country boy, well until they served breakfast. Did you know that those
little paper bags in the back of the seats are really water proof, well
they are, I tried enough of them between Sydney and my last stop 10 hours
Later somewhere in the jungle of Papua New Guinea.

After we landed at Brisbane things got worse and smaller, (no not my thing,
the aeroplane things). after an hour we were embarked onto a Boeing 707,
not bad eh? don't worry it gets worse.

The first thing that struck me when we disembarked in Port Moresby was the
heat and humidity as well as a strange smell in the air, partly salt air,
partly wood smoke and something undefinable, almost like a faint hint of
unwashed bodies.

Customs was a breeze as they had managed to lose both my bags somewhere
between Sydney and Brisbane, ( I bet it was the Aussies getting their own
back for us beating the shit out of them at Rugby.) All I had was my small
overnight bag so should be no problem, right?....wrong. See at that time I
liked to gamble a bit, well ok I was a compulsive gambler but don't tell
everyone, it's my secret, so here I was waiting for this huge black guy in
a uniform to give me the ok with the small bag when he looks up at me and
in the strangest voice,(something between bass drum and german gutteral) he
asks me if I have any playing cards.

Shit I'm a gambler, of course I've got playing cards, but being hungover
and half asleep I decided for once to be honest.

"Yeah sure, I got about six packs."

"Sorry Master, Playing cards are illegal in P.N.G., you'll have to hand
them over."

"Huh? illegal, since when, bloody cards, illegal?"

"Sorry Master thats the way it is, you must hand them over."

Now is this weird or not, its 1968, right in front of his eyes is my bottle
of 200 uppers(Benzadrene) an ounce of Mary J and underneath a face cloth at
the bottom of the bag is my personal equaliser,( Barretta .32 Auto) and all
he wants is my bloody cards.

"Hey sorry Boss didn't know it was illegal, do I have to pay a fine or
something?"

"No Master just hand them over and thats all."

This Master thing was getting to me though, even though I was one time a
sub to a greek guy that was my Master and afterward I had a boy of my own
for a couple of years I didn't expect to meet it here.(I found out a couple
of days later it was the same as saying Sir or Mister but in my condition
anything was possible.)

By this time my head had changed tempo and was playing a tango with high
heels and castinets. I handed over my six packs of cards and without
another look at my bag I was on my way to the next plane, did I say
plane. There on the tarmac was the oldest DC3 (I think the yanks call it a
c140) this antique was a left over from the second world war as was evident
by the canvas seating arranged along the sides of the fuselage. Along one
wing was the unmistakeable smear of dark oil and the rivets had come out of
some of the side panels.

Oh well with my hangover I'm not going to feel the crash anyway, I
clambered into the old plane and took the first seat I could fall into and
went in search of those little paper bags.

As I sat waiting for the rest of the passengers I looked around and saw
that the only other person on the plane just then was a young native guy,
looked about 14 but then who was I to say. Up until that moment I had never
thought about other races as possible bed buddies even though I'm a mix
blood I'm very pale and usually taken for a totally white person. The young
guy looked up and gave me a smile that lit up the dingy insides of the DC3.

"Wanem Masta, em iorait?"

"Uh?"

"Oh I'm sorry Master, I was asking if you were ok?"

HIs english was strangely accented but quite clear and understadable.

"Uhm yes thanks."

"Have you just arrived Master?"

"Uhm... yeah about twenty minutes ago."

"Ahh yu yet emi nupela man emi kam lon ples bilon mipela."

"Dah."

"I was saying that you are new to P.N.G."

"Yeah, I guess so, uhm... where do you come from?"

The young guy left his seat and came to sit beside me, now even with the
hangover I couldn't believe the bulge this young kid was showing, must be
the booze magnifying everything, no 14 something is that big.

"Mi yet Ikam lon Wewak."

Time for a double Dah!

"I come from Wewak in the Sepik district."

"Oh, tell me what's that language you use?"

"It's called Pigin, its the common language here, see, to many different
languages in P.N.G so when the Germans were here in the old days everyone
sort of came up with a language that we could all use."

As it happens one of my few tallents is to be able to learn a language
verbally very quickly and also I seem to be able to include any accent with
it.

I began to listen more intently as the young guy chatted in both Pigin and
english. I turns out he was educated at a mission school and was on his way
back to the mission station at a place called Aitape, (little did I know I
would end up there one day as owner of the local hotel)

The plane began to fill with all types both natives and europeans, I
noticed that except for my little friend the other natives moved to the
back of the plane and the europeans took the front seats, one or two gave
me a funny look but I was still to hungover to really take any notice.

1968 P.N.G was still a trust territory and was administered by the
Australian government and the locals were treated by most Aussies as slave
labour, (You think not, how about $5.70 per two weeks for the plantation
labourers, and if you worked on a mission plantation then it was $4.00 per
two weeks.)

Ok so things were very cheap to buy as there were no taxes and the warf
levies were only 2.5% so a new car or electrical goods were very cheap
indeed. But as usual I digress, the boy chatted about his life and where he
came from and the Aussies in the front kept giving me funny looks, shit I
just got here I didn't know you wern't meant to fraternise with the locals.

Mind you over the next eleven years the Expats(Europeans) tried to get me
deported about four times but I knew more people in the government than
they did so I had the pleasure in some cases to wave them goodbye as they
left, especially after independance in 1975. You should never seek revenge
but damn it's a good feeling to see them leave under orders.

The gooney bird reved up its frail engines and slowly began to run down the
tarmac toward the open sea at the end, if it doesn't get off the ground I
can always swim for it. With a shudder and a jerk it was in the air and
lifting away from the coast toward our next stop, Lae, where I would again
change planes. God I bet it's a bloody biplane or something.

As we sat in the seats (side saddle I was to learn later) I looked around
through the red blur that had become my vision.  Down the center of the
plane was stacked all the luggage and some things I didn't want to know
about. The thirty or so passengers were a mixed lot but a man at the very
rear of the cabin caught my eye and I began to question my part time guide
that happened to have his slim leg hard up against mine. Had I been fully
conscious I probably would have laid on the floor for him and to hell with
the other passengers.

"Hey Palowa,(Flower, don't ask me yet how they get their names)"

"Who is that guy at the back?"

"The one in bilas?"

"Uhm I guess so, all done up with the feathers and things."

"Yes, we call it Bilas, like dressing in traditional clothes."

"Ok, yes him?"

"He's a Hagen."

"A Hagen?"

"Yes he comes from Mount Hagen so we just say Hagen, same as where I come
from, if someone asks I just say Sepik."

"So everyone just comes from one place?"

"No we have many villages and each one is like a family group, that's how
we have about 735 different languages.  See I come from Maprik in the Sepik
but I just tell other people I come from Sepik."

The plane grumbled and moaned it's way over the Owen Stanley Ranges and
through the passing clouds I could make out the towering ragged cliff faces
of the mountains and the dark green of the jungle in the valleys. We seemed
to be flying so low that at times I was sure I could make out some birds
flying around above the canopy of the trees.

"Where are you goin Master?"

"Uhm some place called Minj."

"Ah yes that's up in the highlands about half way between the Chimbu and
Mount Hagen."

"What's it like?"

"I'm sorry I have not been up there, but I believe they don't eat people
anymore."

With that said the boy broke out into a high pitched giggle and dug his
knee into mine a little harder. Was this kid coming on to me? My answer
came in the form of another nudge and a glance down at his crotch. Now even
with a hangover I knew it had to be real, he was one BIG boy. Papua New
guineans were not into wearing underwear, that's if they were wearing
anything at all but that's another story.

I could feel the heat of his chocolate brown skin through my trousers and
wished that we were the only ones in the cabin, we might not join the mile
high club but he had something in those shorts that I really wanted in the
worst way, hungover or not.

The DC3 did a dip and my staomach came knocking on my throat again for the
umpteenth time and the only thing that saved me from spraying the rest of
the passengers was the feeling of that hot leg on mine. Nearly two hours
later and we were swinging out over a large bay and heading toward a small
town sitting in the lower curve of the bay.

At last a chance to get my feet on the ground before I had to go bag
looking again. The afternoon heat had become almost unbearable with such
high humidity but I was in my element, I love heat, any heat, sauna heat,
sun heat but mainly body heat.

The stop over in lae was only about thirty minutes and then back out onto
the overheated tarmac to get the next tonka toy aeroplane. This time it was
a twin engine top wing called a Twin Otter and sat about 20 passengers in
canvas bottomed seats but this time facing forward. My new friend shook my
hand goodbye with a little extra squeeze and a smile that said more than
just "Happy to meet you" and off he went to get his own flight.

Another rough take off and we were flying up the Morobe Valley toward the
Dalo Pass and then into Goroka, the first main town of the highlands. I was
not lucky enough to have a little hot legged mate this time and had to sit
beside a drunken Expat who insisted on telling me how lazy the Kanaka's
(Natives) were and how you had to swear at them to get anything done.

Most of the bull he talked I didn't hear as my head was pushed deep inside
one of those water proof bags again while a called out for Wyatt Earp. The
heavy smell of burnt aviation fuel wafted in great clouds through the open
front windows beside the pilot. Miserable bastard, didn't he know I was
still hungover.

The landing in Goroka was the first real indication I had of being out in
the wap wap's. The airstrip was exactly that, a strip of mown grass with a
small piece of sealing near the tin shed that served as a reception
office. Yes it was change time again and this time it was the Cessna 402
flown by a German called Heli Schussenik a real live ex luftwaffer pilot.

Heli was about five foot tall and five foot wide, how they got him into a
cockpit beats me and eating raw garlic didn't help my stomach any. We took
off with only myself and a missionary on board and as Heli had a thing
about what missionaries did I became his object of discussion. The garlic
breath didn't take long to have me searching for a non existant bag as Heli
regaled me with his feats in the air during the war and how many allies he
knocked down. Wonder if he was ever sober enough to take off.

The 402 zoomed up and over the Kasam Pass and down into the Wahgi valley as
Heli showed me how a Stuka would dive bomb the enemy positions by using the
abilities of the 402. Folks 402's are not made for dive bombing and my guts
told me in no uncertain terms that I was not made for it either.

Heli pointed out where I was going and then flew on toward a far off
mountain.

"Hang on Heli shouldn't you be putting me down there at Minj?"

"Nein, ve go to Hagen, zerr you get zee plane for da Minj."

"Shit I dont think they make planes any smaller than this one, I suppose it
will be a bloody push bike."

"Nein. you get zee 185, she's gut plane, small but gut for dis place."

Another haze of Garlic overcame my nostrils and it was hand over mouth time
again. Everything outside was now a bright red glare as my eyes changed
colour to match the lining of my stomach.

Hagen strip was the same as Goroka but this time it ran down the center of
the small town that bordered it on both sides with a Catholic Mission
Station at the far end. Heli's idea of landing was to aim for the middle of
the grass strip and just switch off the engines and let it glide, drop,
fall or generally get to earth the quickest way possible.

The heavy bump of the landing gear was almost a relief except for shoving
my spine through the top of my head but we made it and that was all heli
was after.

"Bit rough Heli?"

"Any von ist gut von, haff nice stay."

I was to run into Heli a few times and he never changed his flying style
even after managing to place an old german JU88 into a large pond in the
Beyer River Valley, which was still there the last time I looked in 1973.

Sure enough there on the grass strip sat a Cessna 185 with it's single
engine ticking over and the pilot waiting for the dumb ass drunken
passenger to get his now very tired ass in so he could take off to Banz and
then at last to Minj. P.N.G had dawn to dusk flying so he would spend the
night at Minj and take off for some other place in the morning. Why he
stopped at Banz I don't know, he had only two parcels for that place. The
whole town (Station) consisted of one tin trade store and a hotel the rest
of the area I was to learn was mainly coffee and tea plantations.

Minj was about 12 miles down the valley so that as we zoomed up (at a full
speed of 90mph) the pilot Johnny flipped the plane over and we were
starting to land again.

Minj was the same as Banz but a lot bigger, it had a golf club and an extra
store, but the landing strip was the same mowen grass and tin hut. A small
dutch women came rushing out to the plane with a hand full of papers for
the pilot and when I asked where the hotel was I was told very ubruptly to
wait till she was not so busy.

Busy? one passenger(now very tired and still very ill) and one small
plane. As I waited I looked around the grass area and apart from a small
utility truck with a pair of white feet poking out from the drivers window
and a few pretty fierce looking natives, there was not another soul
around. It was now about 5.30pm and I was not going to last on my feet much
longer so with my usual "What the hell" attitude, made my way to the truck
and the white feet.

"Scuse me boss, where do I find the Minj hotel?"

"Bout time you got here, you're three days late."

Now that voice I knew well.

"Yeah, sorry Kym, didn't get your telegram until Wednesday."

Kym at last sat upright and looked as good then as he always had, ahhhhhhhh
memories of better times.

"Ok, get your ass in here and we'll go have a drink, although by the look
of you you don't need it."

"Uhuh, going away party last night."

"By the look of you it must have started three days ago."

This was one of those times you don't open your mouth.

Kym's smile was still genuine and I think he had a few flashes of past
times together. I threw my bag on the seat and got in beside him as he
reved up the old toyota and with a cloud of dust we took off for the
Hotel. It was not to far away but he decided to take a detour through the
town first and then to the hotel. The town took one and a half minutes and
the hotel was another thirty seconds. My all this travelling around could
get to a guy.

We arrived at the hotel to be greeted by a real cutey, It must have shown
on my face as Kym smiled and told me to take it easy as they get
better. Knowing him they would all be hand picked unless he had changed in
the last couple of years. The young guy in the white laplap (cotton skirt
like a sarong) and no shirt, took my bag with a beautiful smile and led us
into the reception/lounge/saloon bar/dining room. As you can see, things
were done a bit differently from real hotels, this one had been an old
plantation house until the owner had decided to make some money by changing
it some years ago.

Kym yelled out in a most ungentlemanly way and another cutey appeared from
nowhere and stood very straight beside us.

"Think you can handle a drink now?"

"Uhm, well I don't want another scotch as long as I live."

"Ok, most of us drink Rum up here, it's the heat, want to try one?"

"Well ok, I'm nearly dead now so might as well finish the job."

"Told you last time about boozing before flying."

Kym looked up at the cutey and let out a blast of the local pigin.

"Kisim tupela bakadi na koak wuntaim planti ais."

The cutey smiled widely and with a last look at me as though he was sizing
me up his next meal took off toward the small bar set up at the end of the
room. The main area of the hotel was finished in all polished wood that
gave the appearance of coolness and space. Close to the bar were a few
small round wooden tables with comfortable looking lounge chairs and along
the bar were four tall bar stools.

"How many europeans here Kym?"

"Expats, Hmmm, about a dozen, but there's only four of us live on the
station, the rest are from the coffee plantations and only come in on the
weekends and friday nights. Most of them will come in tonight to meet the
new guy, you, so we better get some food into you as they'll want to party
for a while. Do you know how to play golf?"

"You got to be pulling my chain?"

"Only thing to do around here, ok you'll learn, you'll have to go for a
game in the morning, part of the welcome."

I'm not going into the welcome party but by 2.30am I was feeling no pain
and Kym got the little cutey that we first met to take me to bed, lucky I
was 25 and old enough to appreciate him. HJe was one beautiful boy and he
knew how to use it all to the best effect.

His mission name was Simon and after getting me out of the stale clothes I
was still wearing from the flight here, he first smiled at me and somewhere
along I must have nodded my head for he was out of his laplap as quick as
it took to undo the strap and slid in beside me.

Now I don't want to be crass but this was definately one of those nights. A
real cutey with good equipment and he was going to willingly use it on me,
like I said, I have trouble saying "NO". I dont know for sure Simons real
age but he appeared to be about 14 or 15 years old, about 5'6" and with a
dark caramel skin. His hair was tightly curled and cut short but what
attracted me most was the defintion in his young muscles and the
unmistakeable musk smell that I would come to love. The smell was not like
one of those unwashed smells but more like a faint hint of wild jungle and
fresh mountain air,(Minj is 3000 feet up in the highlands).

Simon spent no time getting down to business and with a sigh he settled
between my legs as I lay on my back and his 6" slightly thick cock lay down
below my groin and within seconds was hardening nicely.

"Masta Pred, yu laikim dispela sumting belong mi?" ( you like my cock)

"Hmmm yes."

Well I didn't have clue what he said so I just agreed and hoped for the
best. With the pleasantries out of the way Simon reached down and without
further ado thrust his two fingers into me as he smiled down at my face.

"Eyah, dispela mi laikim tumus." (I like your ass)

Simons fingers wriggled a little and then pulled out and with nothing
better to do he started to push his rod inside my ass, none of your pansy
lubes here, just get it in and get it on.

Now I don't mind the feeling of a good dicking but this guy as young as he
was knew just how to use his, none of your usual warm up foreplay just good
honest to god thrusting and cumming. Simon pounded my ass with a vigor that
said he was enjoying it and was not going to stop until he decided.

As he thrust in and out I could feel every inch of skin and muscle as he
sweated above me and managed to find a couple of places even I didn't know
I had inside. After about five minutes of real hard pounding he
straightened up and with a heavy sigh he began to unload his juices with
muscle constricting pulses that had me shooting over my stomach and chest.

Thank god for the booze, if I thought it was over I had another think
coming. No sooner had Simon shot everything inside me than he started with
slow long strokes of his still rigid black shaft to begin again.

Another smile appeared on his face as he looked again at me now writhing on
the top of the bed in a haze of growling lust.

"Yu laikim moa, mi yet i kan givim planti taim." (do you like it, I can do
it a lot of times)

Ok so I didn't know what he said so I gave the standard answer.

"Yes."

"Gutpela, mi laik givim planti." (Good because I like to screw a lot)

Our bodies became slick with perspiration as he set about screwing me to
the bed, I loved to watch his young body sweating as he thrust time and
again slowly into me never speeding up but just keeping a steady pace as he
hardened more. Simons body was beautiful as it hung above me, every muscle
coming into play at one time or another with his deep thrusts. The wildness
of the situation made me want him more and more as he kept up the pace.

That slight mild muskiness pervaded the room as he worked his tool deep and
smoothly into me. Shit what a welcome, my first night in P.N.G.  and I was
getting well done by a cutey that would win prizes in any show. Simon
didn't let up during the night as he continued to enjoy his own private bit
of ass until the early hours of the morning and it was only at about 6.00am
that he laid down beside me with a satisfied smile on his face and snuggled
up beside me with a final comment before jumping out of bed and leaving to
start his work day.

"Mi laikim dispela long nait taim." (I want to do you again tonight.)

Ok, so I gave him the usual answer again, why not? I had just been royally
screwed by a cutey on my first night in town and he wanted more. Simon left
quietly and I passed into oblivion feeling full and totally satisfied.

"Hey....hey....hey get your ass up."

"Hmrrmph."

"Jesus trust you to get a bit on the first night, didn't take you long to
work it out. Come on get up, you got to play golf in an hour."

"Up! golf! hour! fuck what!....time?"

"Come on it's 7.30. you got to learn to sleep more, golf starts at 8.30."

"Gotta be fucking joking. Let me die."

>From somewhere a shower started and I got very wet very quickly.

"Brrrlllb, fushshs, ooohhh gawd."

"Now get your well worked ass out of bed and I'll get some coffee ready for
you."

The surrounding bed was now saturated with water so I had to rise just to
feel better. This can't be real, one hours sleep in the last four days and
a cold shower in bed as well as trying to play a game I knew less than
nothing about. F**** I hate this place already, mind you I love the guys,
(specially Simon) but the rest of the place stinks.

I made my way out to where Kym sat at a table with a self satisfied look on
his face as the table boi laid out some breakfast and coffee things. Now
Kym is about four years older than I am but is a little thin and his hair
was receeding, his eyes were blue and he was an Australian by birth. we had
met when he was in New Zealand during his university years and had had a
relationship that lasted until I was called up to the Army for service. The
unexpected parting broke us both up and although we went our seperate ways
we stayed close and personal friends.

After our couple of years together Kym could read me pretty well and I
think he knew that the break up had hit me harder than it had him as he was
my first true lover and you know how that works for the rest of your
life. When I was a lot younger I had had a very close and intimate friend
during my school years and that had been broken up by the laws of the times
and some misunderstanding parents, but Kym had been my first full time down
to earth real lover.

The table boi returned with the coffee and as my blurred vision cleared a
little I saw that smile break out and an almost embarrassed look from
Simopn as he placed the large hot coffee in front of me.

Kym looked up at Simon and with a smile let out another stream of pigin
while he watched my eyes trying to stay open. Kym's pigin was as good as
the locals as I found out a few weeks later when I had learnt it well
enough but all I could really make out was Simons answer.

"Yes Masta Kym, emi numba wan, sumting belon em i swit tu mus" ( yes sir
he's very good and I like his ass)

This sort of openess took me a while to adjust to after the victorian
attitudes still pervading the colonies at that time but it seemed that the
locals had an entirely open view to anything sexual. It appeared to them as
something natural and if you need to get your rocks off then it was just
nature and no hang ups for anyone. Like they say, "If you can't get a
woman, you can always get a man" I like to turn that around a bit though so
it reads more like "If you can't get a man then nothing else will do." but
that's just a personal preference.

Needless to say the golf game for me was a disaster from the outset and I
was glad to get back to the hotel and collapse on the now tidy dry bed to
try to catch up on some long lost sleep. I had to start conserving my
uppers as they couldn't be got so easily up here and the last twentyfour
hours had reduced my supply by ten.

I was very thankful that Kym had told me not to think about starting work
until Monday so that I could recover from the trip up here, right!. If
Simon visits again tonight that will go out the window so I thought I
better get some rest now. I hit the bed at about 12.30 and was awoken by
Simon rubbing my ass cheeks at 6.00pm. I lifted my head in another bleary
gaze and smiled at him as he set another hot coffee on the bedside table
then with a very cheeky wink left the room so I could get up and clear my
head.

By 6.30pm I made my way into the bar area to be met with a raised eyebrow
from Kym and the rest of the golfers well underway toward another party
night. This life style was going to be hard on a country boy.

I reached the bar and had a cold Bacardi thrust into my hand by a new
barman I had not seen before and by the look in his eye's as he smiled at
me, Simon had been telling stories out of school. Now Simon was so cute and
really active in bed but this kid was in another league altogether. My
mouth must have been open as a soft whisper entered my left ear.

"He's from Morobe and even better than Simon, his name is Joseph."

I started and turned around to see Kym standing beside me with a dirty lear
on his face and one eyebrow raised in the eternal question. I lifted my
glass hurriedly to my face to try to hide the blush that rose from my
feet. Me the one that can't say, "NO", blushing like a virgin, If I ever
need an excuse to get zonked then this was it.

I spent the rest of saturday night being looked after by either Simon or
Joseph and was happy to not have to move from the barstool I had sat on
when I entered the bar. This was going to be one hell of a way to die.


Might be continued if you want it: