Date: Sun, 5 Oct 2003 23:46:52 +1000
From: KG
Subject: Guinea Plantation

When I was growing up in a place called Guinea (changed for the sake
of this story) in the sixties, my parents separated and I went to
live on a plantation with my mum who had found herself a new man. Now
this guy was a real asshole and to this day I cannot speak to him or
of him without feeling rage. Because he was so hard to get along
with, and because I was a very needy five year old without his real
Dad, I was desperate for some male love and affection. Our plantation
was a large one and we had hundreds of men working there, but one in
particular took my heart. His name was Ari (changed to protect him)
and he lived at the edge of our compound. He worked as a servant, or
'wash-iron boy' for our family. I used to follow Ari everywhere,
around the house, down to the laundry, when he went to visit other
people walking through the coffee trees. I began to fall in love with
this beautiful gentle man with his coal black eyes and silky brown
skin and the more I made my feelings known to him, the more he tried
to push me away; scared that I would be the undoing of him. I know he
was attracted to me, I could see the bulge in his trousers and smell
the desire on him, but I was five and a little white boy, the
master's stepson and he was twenty and black and a servant. But the
more he pushed me away the more determined I was to be near him and
touch him and caress him. I was so in love with him, especially his
smile which was constant, even when I could see him wrestling with
his own desires. Eventually something had to give, and it was him, he
gave into his lust. We had many warm mornings wrapped in each others'
arms; many stolen afternoons where we stroked and licked and caressed
each other, our love was finally consummated when I let him enter me.
He was big, it did hurt, but I was so much in love with Ari that I
would have let him do anything with me. One morning, months after we
had started making love, I got up very early, before dawn, snuck
quietly down to his hut at the edge of our compound, made my way into
his arms and we fucked. Suddenly the door to his hut burst open and
there stood my stepfather and a couple of the other men servants. My
stepfather had a rifle in his hand and I was very scared that he
would use it. He hauled me off Ari and then dragged my beloved out of
his hut. He beat my beautiful Ari with the butt of his rifle in front
of me, until he was covered in blood. I was crying and begging him
not to, claiming that it was all my fault and that Ari wasn't to
blame. But my stepfather was determined to punish Ari, though for
whose sake I have often wondered. I don't want to make the beating
Ari received seem any less brutal than it was, but it was for my
benefit that the poor man was thrashed. It was me who felt most
responsible for it, it was me who felt each thump and smash of the
rifle butt and I will never forget the look on Ari's face. My heart
was broken and my hatred of my stepfather forever cemented in those
horrible moments. What happened to Ari? He was taken away and locked
up in prison. I never saw him again. What happened to me? Well here I
am, always wishing to wipe out the violence of that time when I lost
my first love.