Date: Mon, 29 May 2006 16:21:07 -0700 (PDT)
From: Robin Reed <any_mouse2003@yahoo.com>
Subject: Africans - high school - beginnings

The usual disclaimers apply: no under age, no peeking
if you live in a country under a repressive
government- you know who you are- safe sex is the only
way to go- sorry if the characters here don't follow
it, but it is memory not the world today. All rights
reserved, enjoy for your private use, blah blah. But
true. Comments? any_mouse2003@yahoo.com

Africans

I think about William sometimes, he sneaks up on me
from someplace in the dimness of my memory.

The last time he came to me was on a train. I was in
Kenya, traveling from Mombasa to Nairobi on the Night
Train that runs from the green coast up through the
grass plains to the central highlands. I met a man
from Kampala on the train at dinner. He wasn't
William, but I have accustomed myself to imaging that
he is. The times were perilous for him at home, and he
had come to Kenya to seek his fortune.

I was deeply attracted to his dark eyes and full round
face. His shoulders were strong under a freshly
laundered white formal shirt that contrasted with the
ebony of his skin. and the way he spoke the Queen's
English, mellow round vowels, teeth as white as
Chiclets.

He was mesmerizing, and later, when the dining car
shut down and we returned to my sleeping compartment.
he could afford only a seat, and we were both happy to
have a little privacy.

He was very comfortable in his skin, and he made me
comfortable in mine, black on white.

The moon was bright, and at one point we could see the
white snow-capped summit of Kilimanjaro out the
window, and his dark skin and rich tongue drove me
quite to distraction.

The way he was built, though,  was the most
extraordinary thing. His cock was nearly as long in
its resting state as it was when it was hard against
me. It just grew thick, perhaps as wide around as
three fingers, and he filled me thoroughly and
completely.

He had extraordinary stamina, taking me on my back and
front, with only short rests between, and he let me
worship that extraordinary appendage with my thin lip.
The smell of him was so profound that I will never
forget it. Musky and rich with his sweat.

My life did not melt into him. We parted at the
station in the early morning, and he took with him
most of my loose bank-notes. I posted a note on the
message tree at the New Stanley Hotel, but I never saw
him again. I often wonder what happened to him, and if
he survived the troubles.

How I came to travel extensively in Africa is part of
a longer story, and the genisis of it begins with
William. I'll get to that part, presently, but I'll
give you some background and see what you think.

I did not have it easy as a kid, but I don't imagine
anyone does. It was hard growing up in the shadow of
my father. He was a tough guy, a former pro football
player.

Good enough to be a pro, not good enough to be famous
beyond the bars in Chicago where men cared about
offensive linemen.

He hade some pretty good money playing, but careers
are short. He met my mother when he was flush with
cash, and he was fit and he had knees that were not
crippled by arthritis.

To the day he died, he had that bull neck and Mike
Ditka-style crew cut. Old school, that was my Dad, and
that was why I think he always had a problem with me.

I take after Mom. It must have humiliated him, and the
line of husky Scandinavian farmers that were in his
line.

If they are in mine, I don't know where they are
hiding. Mom was a beauty from the near South Side of
the city. Her family was middle-class, but barely, and
I think part of her insecurity came from that.

They both were that way, insecure. Dad had lived above
his means when he was playing, and when it stopped and
he had to get a real job I think he was never
comfortable that the cheering had stopped.

He tried to toughen me up when I was little. He would
throw the ball with me, all kinds of balls. Footballs
and baseballs, but it just didn't work. I was a
scrawny little thing, built with Mom's willowy frame.

I preferred to read a book, since I could be anywhere
in a book, and not have to feel like I was forced to
be something I wasn't.

Dad was a good man, even if prone to fits of
depression, and I loved Mom as much as any boy could.
Dad worked long hours, and being shy by nature, I
spent a lot of time with her. She taught me how to
cook, and we would talk all the time while rolling out
dough, or chopping vegetables. She told me what it was
like growing up close to the mean streets, if not on
them, and how the kids survived in the Big City.

She also took me into her memories about what it was
like to be a girl changing to a woman, and what it was
like to look at things in a completely different way
than my Dad did.

I had begun to notice that I was different in grade
school, but that was OK. I couldn't quite figure it
out, and Mom told me it was just because I was a
little late blooming. My class was small, and we had
all been together since kindergarten. It was at Middle
School that things got weird, what with six elementary
schools being thrown all together. And there was
suddenly the "right thing" to wear, and whatever it
was, I didn't have it.

I had corduroy slacks with cuffs, and brown tie shoes,
and a gray sweater that buttoned down the front over
my paid shirts. That is what started it, the older
boys teasing me, and it hurt. My friends from
elementary school seemed to fade away from me. They
seemed unwilling to be associated with a slight boy
who was clearly not cool.

I sat in the bathroom at home one day in seventh grade
and tried to take stock. I was dreading the next day.
It was the first Gym class, and I was going to have to
change into the goofy blue shorts and t-shirts the
school mandated for the boys.

The afternoon before the first PE class, I sat in the
bathroom at home, looking in the mirror. Brown mousey
hair, bangs in front. The eyes were good, I thought,
deep brown and large on my thin face. A delicate face,
with pale skin. The eyes were definitely my mother's,
I thought, the lashes thick on top and bottom. Very
expressive eyes, if you care for that sort of thing.

My teeth were regular and white, another good feature,
but my neck was thin, and so were my shoulders.

My drama teacher told me later that my neck was "swan
like, and graceful" and that my thin torso and supple
hips were those of a dancer. But I hadn't heard those
words yet, and I was apprehensive. I was too small and
scrawny, I thought. The only thing that wasn't
undersized was my dick.

I had only started to wonder about that part of me
when the first hairs began to sprout above it. It was
slender, but long. I was circumcised, I knew that and
had asked why. My Mother said it was for cleanliness,
and all the boy babies were cut that way.

I did not know what it meant, though I could see the
scar on the shaft just below the elegant German helmet
that surmounted the pale skin.

Mom had ensured that I had read a little pamphlet that
explained where babies came from, and about the
changes that were coming. She was seemed a little
embarrassed, and I was, too, since the kids at school
had painted the picture pretty well, in thoroughly
lurid details.

It seemed kind of exciting, but I also could not
imagine doing "it" with any of the girls I knew. It
seemed easier to look at things the way my Mom had
described it. My Dad ignored the whole thing, much the
way he ignored me a lot of the time. I figured I was a
disappointment to him, and just tried to do well in
school.

From the first week or two of class it seemed like it
was going to be a lot of work, but that didn't bother
me.

I played the clarinet, by the way. I liked the way the
reed felt in my mouth, after I moistened it, and the
way I had to wrap my fingers around the thick black
instrument to tap the silver keys on its massive
shaft.

Don't laugh. I really did like it, and I liked the
sound of it.

I was second chair in the orchestra, based on the
first audition with Mr. Gray, the music teacher. A lot
of kids still played instruments then because their
parents made them in elementary school, and they
hadn't figured out that they could quit yet.

There was a guy in the music class who looked at me.
His name was Rob, and every time I looked around it
seemed he was looking at me, checking me out. I don't
know why, but it gave me goose bumps.

He had hair combed down over his forehead with a flip
at the end, and merry blue eyes, when he wasn't
looking at me. He was one of the football players and
seemed popular. I kept getting the feeling that he
wanted to talk to me. I felt strange. Not in a bad
way, just strange.

There was no avoiding the first PE class. I had it
third period, ten in the morning. I took a bag with me
to school with the mandatory items in it. Sneakers,
jockstrap, blue shorts, white t-shirt and combination
lock. I walked down to the steps to the boys locker
room and down the steps. Coach Stroud was just inside
the door, handing out towels and slips of paper with
locker assignments on it.

"Come on, Come on, guys. Let's go! Get to your
lockers, change and in the gym! chop, chop!"

I could smell old sweat and chlorine from the pool and
the faint odor of aftershave. Dozens of guys where
scrambling to find their lockers and get heir cloths
off.

I wondered that my Dad had spent most of his life in
this environment, every day, and hurried to the second
aisle, hoping to find locker 238 there. It was, and I
breathed a sigh of relief. There were arms poking
everywhere as shirts came off.

I opened the locker and hung the lock on the eyelet. I
took off my sweater, folded it neatly, and placed it
on the shelf. Then came my plaid shirt, which I hung
on a hook and then I skinned off my white t-shirt and
folded it and put it on top of the sweater.

It was easy. I got the rest of my clothes off and
stepped into the jock-strap without a problem. I kept
my eyes on my locker as I adjusted by cock and balls
in the close-fitting elastic, marveling at how is
felt, holding me close and tight.  I was able to keep
my eyes straight ahead as I pulled on the shorts and
pulled on the white t-shirt.

Then it was just the white athletic socks and
sneakers. I had to sit on the bench to tie them up,
and allowed myself my first glance down the row.

I guess some of the other guys had the same sort of
nerves that I did, and some were still figuring out
what to do with the jock-strap. Eddy, the class-clown
and bully de jour was wearing his over his head. At
the end of the row was the only black kid in my grade.
His name was William, and he was actually not black,
but a real African.

I don't know why that made a difference, but it did.
He father was a representative in the state oil
business, on assignment in the City for a year.
William did not understand racism the way we did, and
he held himself with dignity. He also was standing,
holding his shorts, and I caught a glimpse of his
cock, hanging with an authority all its own down his
leg.

I thought mine was long, but his seemed to have a life
of its own, as he leaned forward to step into the
shorts. It swayed all on its own, thick and black as
night. I realized he was uncircumcised, since the skin
went all the way to the end, and concealed the
prominent helmet that adorned the end of mine.

Perhaps it was the novelty of it that made me stare,
but I felt a push in the middle of my back.

"Yeah, it's true," said Eddie in a horse whisper.
"Niggers have huge cocks. Do you like it?"

I turned to face him. He had taken the jock off his
head and he was looking at me with a scowl.

"Don't use the word, Eddie."

"Or what, you little queer? You gonna make me stop?"

Coach was shouting "Get moving, Ladies!" and bodies
were starting to move down the aisles between the
locker rows. I started to move away.

"Let me know, when you want to, Little Joe."

I was flustered beyond belief, but thankfully everyone
was a little unsettled by the newness of the whole
locker room experience. In the gym, Coach made us line
up and do a series of calisthenics, side straddle hops
and arm reaches and push-ups. Last was sit-ups, and we
had to get partners to hold our legs flat to the
floor.

That was a horrifying prospect. Rob, the boy from band
was in the row behind me. I wanted to ask him to
partner because of the way he had looked at me, but he
was too far away. Coach made it easy by saying the boy
to the right would hold first, then reverse positions.

We were even-numbered, and that worked out, except for
one thing. The boy to my right was William.

I was on the left, and was supposed to go first. Coach
told us to get down on our backs, "Assume the
position!" were his precise words. William took up
position at my feet, and gripped my ankles hard with
his dark hands. His eyes were impossibly white against
his dark skin, and he smiled at me.

I was dumbstruck, even as Coach told us to begin. It
was only twenty sit-ups, but they were hard with my
arms behind my head. William smiled encouragement, and
soon enough it was down. He released me and got down
on the floor, stretching out. I got up on my hands and
knees and scooted to his feet.

I grasped his ankles as he had mind, and I felt the
strength of his legs as he began to bob up and down.
He was powerful enough almost to raise me off the
ground with his motion, and I had to lean forward to
maintain my grip. That brought my face forward, over
his knees, and I could see the mound of his thick cock
under his shorts, imprisoned in the tight sack of his
jock.

I thought of what it had looked like when it was free,
and the thought made me a little giddy. I realized I
was still hanging on after he had stopped moving.

"It is OK, Joe. We are done," he said in his round
vowels.

I might have blushed, I don't know.

I think we played basketball, though I was not able to
concentrate in several rotating teams. I was able to
hang back, and soon enough the hour was over. Or at
least it was almost over. The next unknown was the
shower.

Coach blew his whistle. "OK, Ladies, that was truly
horrible. We are going to work on Basketball the rest
of this marking period, and if I see some decent
progress, some of you might get tapped for the Junior
Varsity. But not with the effort I saw today. Now get
out of here and shower off. You get the one towel, and
put it in the hamper by the door when you leave. You
have ten minutes until next period. Move!"

We shuffled to the locker room door and I got caught
with Eddie at the door. "Remember what I said, you
little dipshit," he said, sotto vocce. "I'll see you
after school."

That was all I needed. I stripped down quickly at the
locker, fumbling at the combination. Then, clutching
my towel in front of me, I walked to the shower room
that was foggy with hot water and crowed with pink
boys. I kept my gaze down, and realized the towel was
going to get soaked. I hung it on a ring near the door
with dozens of others, hoping one of them would be
there after I rinsed off.

I was able to get a sidelong look at several of the
cocks. Some were little buttons, retracted up against
the owner's stomachs. Some were proud and long, like
mine, though not many were as long. There were hairy
boys and boys who had only begun to sprout hair at the
base of their shafts.

I closed my eyes under the thin spray of water, and
lathered up a thin film of soap from the little bar
that was on the ledge near the faucet. I was hoping to
get a glimpse of William again, but I was not lucky,
and I was afraid I would attract Eddie's attention
again.

I left the shower as soon as I got the soap washed
off. There was a towel available, though not the one I
had carried in. I used to cover myself and managed to
scurry back to my locker. There I toweled off quickly,
glancing to see if William had returned to the end of
the row.

He had, and he stood nude, completely comfortable in
his dark skin, his long penis swinging freely as he
bent to pull his clothes out of the locker. His
stomach had ripples, and his ass was different than
the white kids who surrounded him. His cheeks were
more rounded and high up. With that magnificent cock
in front, his large sack and prominent balls resting
below the tight black curls at the base, he was a
perfect vision.

I realized I had looked too long when he caught my
eye, and I turned back to my locker and dressed as
fast as I could.

I had to pick up my books at my hall locker, and hit
the door just as the bell rang to change classes.

"After school, Joey-boy!" shouted Eddy as I moved
quickly down the hall. I hated that kid.

The rest of the day passed in a haze. I was
apprehensive about Eddie and getting home in one
piece, and on the other hand, seeing all those boys
naked had me quite distracted. I ran the whole scene
through my mind at lunch, and in Algebra and English
and History.

As the time got closer to the end of last period I
began to panic. What was I going to do if Eddie
confronted me? He was going to call me names, that was
no big deal, but I knew he just wanted an excuse to
kick my butt. Make himself look big by beating little
me.

After the last bell, I picked up my clarinet case from
my locker resignedly and walked slowly to the front
door. Sure enough, Eddie and a couple of his buddies
were hanging around, down by the edge of school
property where the buses turn out on the main road.

I could have walked the other way, but sighed and
thought I would confront the matter. It wasn't going
to get any better avoiding it. I wondered what my Dad
would do. Break them all in two, I imagined, and hoped
that this would not get back to him.

I slowly approached Eddie's little band.

"Hey, there, queer boy. I have been waiting for you to
teach me a lesson about the Nigger you have the hots
for."

"That is uncalled for Eddie. You should not use the
word, that's all. I don't care what you call me. You
can't hurt me with names."

"True. Why don't you put down the faggy music case and
I'll show you what." His buddies smirked.

"I don't think so, Eddie. If you want to fight, you
are going to have to do it yourself."

I am not clear on what happened next. Eddie started
toward me and the next thing I knew I was on my back
on the ground, and my cheek hurt. I was looking up.
Eddie actually looked concerned, and his friends were
walking away up the block away from the school. I was
starting to get up when I heard William's rich voice.

"What issue do you have with Joe, my friend? Has he
offended you in some manner?"

"Nah. He is just a little fag. I saw him watching you
in gym class. I think he has something going about
you. We don't like that here." Eddie looked a little
wide-eyed. I don't think he wanted to tangle with
William, who had a couple inches and twenty pounds on
him.

"Ah," said William "You are protecting me, then."

"Yeah. That's it. I'm on your side," said Eddie, a
little nervously.

"I will thank you, then, and ask you to step away. It
is a dishonor in my country to have others fight your
battles. I do not need, nor desire, your protection.
In fact, I am going to make a special case of this
little- how did you say it? Fag?"

"Er, yeah. OK. I gotta be going."

"I would take great offense if I see you bothering my
little fag in the future. Serious offense." William
put a great deal of emphasis on the last words. Eddie
looked spooked.

"Right. Got it, William." He began to walk away,
quicker as he went. He didn't say a thing to me. I got
to my feet and dusted off the seat of my corduroys.
William came up to me and looked at my face.

"I think you need a washcloth. I don't think it is too
bad. He hit you fairly hard." He was so close that I
could smell him. I don't know if was the effect of the
blow, or his proximity that made me dizzy. Maybe it
was both.

"Shall I walk you home?" he asked.

"No, no. I'm fine. Really. Thanks for your help. I
knew he was trouble."

"How did it start?"

"He called you a name. I told him he shouldn't."

"I think I know the name. I might have heard it
before. You Americans are strange people. But I think
your heart is in the right place, Joe."

"I just think people should be polite. That's all. My
Dad played on sports teams with black people and he
would not stand to hear the word."

"Sometimes with experience comes tolerance. Not
always, though. Let me ask you something, if I might."

"Of course."

"Are you a little queer as Eddie suggests?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I don't know what to think. My
face hurts."

"Well, if you are, perhaps we can explore some of your
feelings. In my country the very notion of being queer
can result in being stoned to death in some provinces
that follow Sharia law. If I must return to Lagos, I
feel I should experience everything that America has
to offer."

"Yes. Of course." My mind was reeling. He gave me a
little bow, and strode off briskly in the direction of
the school. I wanted to yell back to him, tell him
that I wanted him to walk me home, and I wanted more
than that. But I was a little dizzy.

I managed to get home and slipped up to my room
without Mom seeing my face. I peered at it in the
mirror, and there was not denying that I had been hit.
It did not look like my eye was going to black up, but
my cheek was swollen and abraded where Eddie's fist
had glanced me.

I decided to yell down to Mom that I had a lot of
homework and needed to work through supper. She yelled
back that Dad was not going to be home, and that was
fine, she would have a plate for me when I was done.

Then I went to my room and took off my pants and
underwear and laid myself down on my back. My cock was
straining the whole time, growing thick as I looked at
my cheek, flushed and red, and when I was in the
position, flat on my back, my cock was as hard as I
had ever felt it.

When I stroked it I thought of William in the locker
room, and the way his cock swayed when he moved. I
wondered what it looked like hard, and I thought of
how he had sworn to take care of me. When I spasmed to
my climax it felt like my balls were boiling. I hit
the headboard of my bed with my jism, Then I took my
finger and scooped it up and I licked it clean. I had
never done that before, but I found it exciting
somehow, and the taste was not unpleasant. It stayed
on my tongue, and I wondered what it would be like to
taste someone else's. maybe William's.

It was not the last time I thought about that in the
night, either.

The Letter

I was a little freaked out when I went to school the
next day. It had only been a night and everything felt
different. I went to my locker to pick up my books for
first period, and when I opened the door, a heavy
envelope fell out at my feet. It must have been
slipped in the ventilation louvers at the top before
school. I was running late already, so I slipped it in
my American History book to look at later.

Mr. Rosencranz was as boring as ever, so as he talked
about Marbury vs. Madison, I took out the envelope to
have a better look. It was obviously expensive
stationary, a kind I had never seen. It was rich cream
in color, and had a monogrammed ""O" on the point of
the flap. I waited until we were instructed to turn to
the next chapter and concealed the sound of tearing
open with the rustle of pages. Inside there was a
note-card of the same creamy rich color and with the
same monogram at the top.

Handwritten in bold dark ink was my name, and the
request for the pleasure of my company for a meeting
on a private affair, noon, on Saturday at 2374
Fallbrook Lane.

It was signed my Milton Obote. That must be William's
father, I thought. Then I slipped the card back in the
envelope. I wondered what he wanted to talk to me
about. I hoped William had not told him about my
problem with Eddie, ro worse, what he had called me.
I'll confess I could not keep my mind on the early
Supreme Court. All I could think about was how William
swayed as he moved, and when the next phys ed class
was.

A House in the Suburbs

William's father had secured a home in the very best
neighborhood of my affluent town. I don't know if he
rented or bought the place. I understood the Nigerian
government had plenty of money, and maybe they had
purchased through an intermediary.

I had to ride my bike nearly five miles to get there,
and I was winded when I arrived. There was a gated
entrance to a long black-top driveway and impeccable
landscaping. The gates stood open, and I rode right
through.

I put the bike on the kickstand and walked up to the
door, totally nervous. I pushed the button, and after
a moment the massive slab began to swing open.

I assumed William would answer the door, but it was
not him. It was a tall African man, lean and powerful
with an impassive face. I told him who I was, and that
Mr. Obote had requested me to come. He nodded and
indicated that I was to follow him.

I stepped in and he carefully closed the door behind
me, and then turned and stepped briskly toward the
interior of the house, following a Oriental carpet
that looked about thirty yards long. It led down a
long central corridor with doors to either side. The
man stopped at the second one on the right, opened it,
and gestured me in.

I stepped in, walking over another giant oriental rug.
Books filled cases built in to all the walls. There
was a massive carved desk, and a gas log  burning in
the fireplace. Three chairs were arranged near it, and
two men were seated there. One had silver hair that
radiated around his dark face like a corona. The other
was as dark as night, powerful looking even as he sat.
That one gestured to me, waving me toward the third
chair.

It was cushioned in green leather the color of money.

I sat down gingerly. "Welcome to my home, Joseph. I am
pleased that you could come." I nodded, uncertain as
to what I could possibly say to him. His eyes were
deep as obsidian pools circled by ors of brilliant
white. His teeth were regular and gleaming white
against his rich dark lips, full and sensuous.

"This is my associate, Dr. Onisha. We are from the
same village in our homeland, and he is here to assist
me in a cultural matter."

The Doctor nodded, silent, observing me. Mr. Obote
continued. "I had a long conversation with William the
other evening, after he intervened on your behalf.  It
occurred to me that you had in fact intervened on his
behalf, and given the context of what he told me, I
have developed a proposition which I will offer for
your consideration."

"I would be honored to hear what it is, Sir." This was
so formal I had no choice but to try to match his
gravity.

"First, let me give you some background which will
help you to understand what might be a difficult
concept for you. I come from Nigeria, as you know, and
am a senior official in the Oil Ministry. We have been
blessed with riches in my homeland. But in my homeland
there are many ethnic groups. In fact, there are trhee
hundred languages and dialects spoken there."

He assumed a lecturing mode, tenting his hands and
speaking over them. "I will avoid the term "tribe" to
describe these ethnic groups. That word is a racist
term. The Ibo and Hausa-Fulani are each made up of
five to ten million people, a figure comparable to the
number of, say, Scots, Welsh, Armenians, Serbs or
Croats. We do not refer to the latter groups as
"tribes." As we are attempting to discard the
prejudices of imperialism, it is best to discard the
term altogether."

"With that in mind, I will bore you with a brief
explanation of why my village home has some customs
that you might think peculiar, but which make profound
sense in the context of where we live."

Dr. Onisha nodded, and said "In our homeland, which is
a fictional creation of the British colonialists,
there are three major ethnic groups. The first is the
Yoruba, who claim a grand history going back to
royalty in Ghana and Niger. The second group is the
Hausa-Fulani, who are an Islamic people whose origins
lie in the Chad Basin. They are known to be tough
businessmen, and have a judicial system that follows
the strict principals of the Koran. They are best
known for a religious war, or Jihad, that resulted in
the conquest of the northeastern provinces of our
homeland. "

Mr. Obote's eyes twinkled gravely. "Dr Onitsha and
myself are Ibo, which is to say we are a synthesis of
many smaller groups, and our society is based on the
village unit. Our home is the belt of forest in the
country to the east of the Niger Valley. We stayed
there, close to our villages to avoid the annual slave
raids of the Fulani. They rode horseback, and were
unable to penetrate deep into our forest. Their
application of strict Sharia has been a source of
continuing conflict between us and the Fulani. Some of
our practices are considered offenses worthy of being
stoned to death. There is not love lost between us."

"Our largest social unit is the village, where each
extended of our extended family managed its own
affairs without being dictated to by any higher
authority. Because of our requirement to live, we
developed unique customs that have stayed with us,
even as we left the forest and went to the English
schools, and eventually joined the central
government."

"Dr. Onisha and myself left the village when we were
not much older than yourself and William. We learned
well the lessons our elders taught us. As small
groups, our family structure was important. The girls
were separated from the boys when they began to
menstruate, and were not permitted to be alone with
the boys until a marriage was arranged. There was no
concept of romantic love, as you have here in
America."

He shook his head. "I am not sure that exists in any
event, between man and woman. Marriage for us was a
business proposition, or what you might call a
practical union for survival."

"But our village knew that young men have needs, and
there must be an outlet for them. Accordingly, we
follow a ritual that permits the rising sap of our
young men to flow freely, but in a way that does not
endanger the social fabric of the village. When they
come of age, the older men show them the way, in a
manner that teaches them respect and appreciation for
the power of the Odo-me, or what you would call the
phallus, and the way of the warrior."

"Joseph, I tell you this because I have a proposition
for you. My business here in the United States will
require me to stay here for another year or more. I do
not find kinship with the blacks in your major city. I
believe them to be Americans, and filled with a spirit
of bitterness that is derived from their years of
slavery and subservience."

"Likewise I have little fondness for your white
society. I can feel its self-destructive hatred for
people of color, and I know I can never be a part of
it. William feels that, too, and I have discouraged
him from social interaction in this community for fear
of what might happen to him were he to take up with a
white girl."

"Being here, he has not had the opportunity to be
brought into society as we chose in my village, and it
is not appropriate for his father to do so. That
accounts for the visit of Dr. Onisha. It is time for
William."

"From what he has told me about the incident at
school, it occurred to me that he might need a friend
who could appreciate our unique way. He mentioned that
you defended him against a bully, and that you were
called names for it as well. He said you were called a
queer, and a faggot. Is that true?"

I cleared my throat in embarrassment. "Yes, Sir, it is
true. At least the part about the name-calling. I do
not know if I am queer. I have no experience about
that."

Mr. Obote smiled broadly. "William told me that you
looked at him, entranced, when you were in Physical
Training." I blushed for sure then, looking down.

"He also mentioned that you were fair, and that your
eyes were as beautiful as a girl's, and that you were
well endowed, for a white boy."

There was nothing I could say to that and I did not
try. I wondered where this lecture was leading. My
stomach churned. Mr. Obote rose and walked to the
window, which looked out into a garden.

"Joseph," he said, "I would like to make you a
proposition. I would like to have you participate in
the ritual of my people, and be a companion for
William while we remain here in America. It might be
useful for you, to understand us, and it would enable
William to remain pure, by our understanding of that,
and with the outlets that a young man needs."

I was trembling. "What would it mean, sir?"

"It does not hurt. Or perhaps it does have some mild
discomfort for a little time and the pleasure more
than makes up for it. It is a ceremony of great
solemnity, and of great respect. Does this interest
you?"

I swallowed. "Yes, Sir. It does very much." Mr. Obote
nodded.

"I thought that might be your answer, but I want you
to think about it. There are aspects of this that are
alien to your land, and it is a matter that we keep
with the utmost confidentiality.  It you wish to
continue on this road, I extend to you an invitation
to return here on Saturday, at one o'clock."

"I'll be here," I said. That was it. The two men
nodded, and it was clear that I was to leave. The tall
servant was waiting outside the door, and he led me
out without a word.

***********

When I returned that Saturday, I was about fit to be
tied. I had been jerking off at least four times a
day. Eddie had left me alone. And something big was
going to happen. I just knew it.

When I got to the house and ditched my bike, William
opened the door. The servant who had greeted me that
last time was no where to be seen. He gazed at me
solemnly and reached out his hand. I gripped it,
marveling at his strength and the length of his
fingers. He drew me into the cool darkness of the
foyer. The oriental rug stretched off into the vast
hall.

"Come with me," he said in his rich voice. "We must
prepare."

He turned and walked off briskly, expecting me to
follow him. I blurted out "Prepare for what?" but his
air of command compelled me to follow along like a
puppy.

We did not go down the passage to the library.
Instead, we passed quickly through a kitchen with
appliances that gleamed in stainless elegance and back
down a hallway to what might have been the maid's
quarters.

A window looked out to the green foliage. It was very
quiet. William faced me, and placed his hands on my
upper arms, holding me away from him as he looked deep
into my eyes.

"This is an important day for me, and I am pleased
that my father has agreed to allow you to participate
in it."

"But what is it we are going to do? Exactly?" William
smiled at me.

"Today, we will become men." He must have seen the
question in my blue eyes. "It is an important ritual
of my Father's village. It is of great significance, a
rite of passage into adulthood, and an exposure to the
miracle, and the cult of the warrior."

"I'm not a warrior, William. I am not sure exactly
what I am."

He smiled again. "My father says he thinks you might
be an effeminate man. In my language there are two
words each for penis, vagina and sexual intercourse.
But there are no less than four words for "effeminate
man." As Eddie called you, a homo. But in our society
it is not something to be ashamed of. It is part of
life, and a part of it to be celebrated."

I swallowed heavily. "I'm not sure this is a good
idea, William. I don't know if I want to be
celebrated. I am not ready."

He drew me closer to him, and kissed me on the
forehead. "There is no finality in this. There is only
a beginning to the road. In my world, there is a
journey and many places to stop, and many paths that
diverge in the forest."

He released me, but I stood, almost paralyzed. "Now,
let us get ready to present ourselves to the Elders.
Remove your clothing, and put this on. I will show you
how."

He handed me a square of brightly colored cloth,
shaking it open to reveal a long rectangle. "Put this
on like a kilt. I will show you how to fold it
properly so that it stays up."

Then he began to unbutton his shirt. I stood holding
the fabric, swallowed hard, and began to follow
William as he took off his clothes.

I was naked before him, my clothes neatly folded when
he turned to me and smiled.

"This is a day of great joy." He padded over to the
bathroom, his wonderful cock swaying between his legs.
I watched in wonder, my own cock growing in girth,
rising with anticipation of what might be about to
happen. He reached into the medicine cabinet and took
something out. He walked back to me and I saw that in
his hands were two small bundles, wrapped in a green
leaf. He handed me one and I looked at it with
curiosity.

"What is it?"

"Inside the leaf is a paste made from roots that grow
in our forest at home. Unwrap it, and lick up the
contents."

"Is it a drug?"

"Not in the way that you would think. It brings
oneness to the ceremony, a relaxation, I am told. I
have not tasted of it, but my Father says it is part
of the tradition."

I looked at him skeptically, but he unwrapped his leaf
and raised it to his full lips. His dark eyes seemed
to bore into mine. I unfolded the leaf. The paste
within was pale yellow and had a rich earthy scent. He
opened his mouth, and his dark tongue began to lap the
contents of his leaf. I shrugged and did the same.

The paste was bitter, but not unpalatably so. It
tingled in my mouth and I swallowed it. William
grimaced a bit, and then took the leaf from me,
looking to see that I had consumed it all. He folded
them together carefully, and placed them on top of his
folded clothing. "I will save these as a souvenir of
this day. A day of beginnings."

He picked up the folded cloth. "Now turn around, Joe,
and I will show you how this is worn."

I turned my back to him as he shook out the cloth. His
hands came around my waist, bring the cloth so that it
overlapped and tented on my hardness. I blushed again.
I could feel the warmth of his body against mine and I
wanted to slump back against him. I could feel his
hardness against me and I began to tingle. I looked
down at the fabric, rich red on the border, and creamy
white with large red and black paisley shapes.

Was it the paste, or was it the feel of his strength
and the closeness of him? I could not tell. His left
hand held one end of the cloth flat against my belly,
and then his right pressed the other end across it. He
folded the overlap back so it made a long rectangular
fold down my middle. Then he rolled the top down so
that it gathered in a neat waistband.

I felt his hands on my shoulders as he turned me to
face him, and he looked down at his handiwork. I
blushed harder as he looked at my erection.

"You are ready, I see. That is good, Joe." His own
cock had swelled up, arcing away from his belly and
the tight back curls around his groin. The tip of his
helmet was peaking out of the gathered skin. I wanted
to reach out and touch it, tease that long shift into
full fierce erection. The blood hammered in my ears.
He smiled at me.

"Soon."

He put on his own skirt, folding it efficiently. I
looked at him with wonder. His powerful neck sloped
down to meet his powerful shoulders. His biceps
swelled and his chest was smooth, tapering down his
torso to a narrow waist. His hips were accentuated by
muscular buttocks and tall thighs.

"You are very handsome," I stammered. A warm feeling
was spreading all through my body as though the heat
from my blush was penetrating through my middle. My
cock strained against the fabric of my skirt. "What is
going to happen, William?"

"We will be called to the garden, where the ceremony
will be conducted. It will not be long." Somewhere
deep in the house a bell chimed. He smiled, his teeth
rich and gleaming white.

"It is time. Follow me. Relax. This is a time of great
joy."

He walked out of the room, his shoulders back, and I
scurried along behind him, barefoot, with the thin
fabric whispering along my thighs.

William walked through the kitchen to where a door
opened into a garden patio. Thick foliage surrounded
the bricks, so there was complete privacy. This was
not a backyard in suburbia. It was like a glade in
forest. Two tall chairs with carved backs flanked a
large red floral arrangement that projected upward. I
thought it might be a cactus, since it was tall as a
man, and the circumference of a coffee can. Two bushy
plants were paired at the base, and I realized the
arrangement was a giant penis, and large fleshy balls.

it must be the odo-me, I thought, filled with wonder.
In front of the odo-me was a low bench of dark wood.

The servant who had first admitted me to this house
was crouched on a blanket, holding a tall drum with a
worn animal skin head between his knees. He wore a
skirt in the same pattern as ours, and as we emerged,
he began to tap on the surface of the drum in a
strange rhythm.

Seated in the chairs were Mr. Obote and his associate,
Dr. Onisha. Their arms rested on the wings of the
chairs, and their legs were open. Between their feet
on the ground was a pad of plaited straw. They were
bare-chested, and wore necklaces made of ivory discs
connected by dark leather. Their faces were impassive,
and stern. He gestured to me to stand before him, as
William took up place in front of the Doctor.

Mr. Obote began to speak as a felt the beat of the
drum assume the same meter of my heart. My legs felt
week, and the warm feeling was spreading through me as
though my blood was being warmed. My breathing grew
shallow. I licked my lips.

"In the forest, there are a complex set of beliefs
that has enabled us to survive. This is a sacred
moment that is consecrated in our people. It
celebrates the power of the penis, and the milk of
creation. That men should naturally be with men is as
the Gods created it. Men and women bear children
together. It is proper that men should celebrate real
love with other men, and that love is a sacred union."

I thought his words made perfect sense, or that they
buzzed like an insect inside my ear. " We believe that
there is danger of the warrior being weakened  by
contact with the vagina of women. Our law holds that
contact with women should be regulated and there are
restrictions of when and how often marital intercourse
are permissible. Mostly it is for alliance and
reproduction. The needs of men are frequent, and they
must be accommodated."

"In the Konso language, Joseph, we have words for men
who never marry, and weak men, and men who wear
skirts. There is a continuous gradation of maleness
from the ritual kings to sub-chiefs on down, rather
than absolutely discrete gender categories. Today I
will serve as your ritual king, your indoctrinator
into manhood, which is composed of submission and
mastery. Dr. Onisha will serve that role for my son,
since it is inappropriate for a father to join with
his son to create the male principle incarnate.
Advance, boys, and become men. I will continue the
sacred words in our own language. Boys, kneel before
us and prepare to become men."

I looked out the corner of my eyes and saw William
walk forward, and then get down on his knees between
the legs of the Doctor. I swallowed hard and did the
same. Mr Obote's massive thighs strained at the thin
fabric that covered them. I looked up at him, as he
continued to speak in words that I could not
understand. They began to blur into the beating of the
drum, and his voice rose and fell in waves that I
could feel through my body.

I began to sway in a gentle motion, smelling the rich
man-smell of him. Then the words stopped. I saw large
a large black hand with pink palm before my eyes, and
the skirt was pulled open, and his manhood- his
odo-me- revealed before my eyes.

The massive shaft of his cock lay next to his thigh.
It must have been eight inches long, flaccid as it
was. I was flooded with the aroma of him, soap, and
musk and his intimate sweat. His hands reached out to
the sides of my head, gently but insistently pulling
me forward. The pounding of my heart became a roar as
I neared the serpent before me. It twitched, rising of
its own. I was hypnotized as it brushed my lips. I
breathed deeply, the smell overwhelming my senses. I
opened my mouth and licked the tip of him. It was
slimy, almost tasteless. I licked again, and then felt
myself began to take him in my mouth, the folds around
the massive helmet soft on my tongue. It began to
engorge, growing in me.

Mr. Obete pulled my head forward and I eagerly
complied with his direction. I took as much as I could
in my mouth, looking up at his face, his warm eyes
looking down with approval. He moved my head between
his strong hands, and I took his direction with the
beating of the drum and the roaring of my heart. I
reached up and grasped the base of the monster and
began to suckle on him, slurping with desire for him.
The slimy tip of his cock was now fully exposed and
its velvet hardness caressed my tongue. I began to bob
up and down, happy in my service to the odo-me.

I felt compete as he slid in and out of me. I licked
feverishly, desiring his pleasure, craving it, black
thighs against my white hands. I caressed his large
black scrotum, feeling the great orbs within as large
as billiard balls. They rolled smoothly under the
smooth skin. He was now fully erect and I could feel
his hips begin to move to my motion and that of the
drum. I could feel him nearing his climax and I moved
my head with more urgency, greedy for my reward of his
African manhood.

Then the drum stopped. Mr. Obete's large hands pushed
my head back, and I resisted, wanting his jism to come
in my mouth, frantic at the loss of his cock on my
tongue. He placed a hand on my forehead, curling his
finger in my bangs to hold me there in front of his
engorged monster. With his right hand he began to
stroke himself and I strained forward to get at it, my
mouth open, tongue extended, hungry for him.

His eyes rolled back in his head and he moaned a
little, and then the hot white jets erupted from the
head of his mighty cock. The first jet struck me over
my eye, and I blinked. Then another hit my forehead
with enough velocity to splash, and ran down my cheek,
and the third I managed to catch in my waiting mouth,
and another. He must have shot six great bolts before
he was done. Then he took his dark hands, and with the
pale palms massaged his man-juice into my white skin,
rubbing it in deeply, marking me.

When he was done he gave me the great honor of
returning to his odo-me, to lap up the semen and clean
him. The taste of him was intoxicating, or maybe it
the drug. Or maybe it was all of them that made the
faint acrid taste of his cum so sweet to my lips and
tongue and gullet.

When I was done cleaning him with my mouth, he gently
pushed me away.

"That was very good, Joseph. You show great
enthusiasm. Now we will complete our rite. Crawl to
the bench, and kneel before it."

I did as I was commanded, the folds of my skirt
unfurling and opening, so that it fell way from my
flanks. I knelt before low bench and I could hear the
drum beginning once more. Mr. Obote and Dr. Onisha
moved to stand beside me, and they gently grasped my
shoulders and moved me forward until my chest was on
the bench. They moved my hands until they found two
posts at the end. I grasped them, feeling the gentle
wind caress my buttocks. I was one with the drum, and
I wondered where William had gone, and if the Doctor
had come in his face, and rubbed it into his rich
skin.

Suddenly I felt hands on my cheeks, caressing them,
seperating them, opening me to inspection. Something
cool and greasy was rubbed in my crack, and I could
feel my erection straining up, touching the wood of
the bench. I moaned. The coolness felt good, and when
something probed at my bud, I felt an almost electric
shock. Something penetrated me, a finger, I thought,
and it caressed me, in and out.

It felt unnerving, like nothing I had experienced
before. Then there was another finger, and a third,
and the stroking became more vigorous. I began to push
back into them, feeling the need for them to plunge
deeper into me, to touch that place that made me
quiver.

Suddenly they withdrew, and I felt empty and alone. I
looked to the side, and the Doctor was still there,
looking down, and Mr. Obotoe suddenly reappeared on my
other side. He offered his hand to me, and smiled. I
began t lick his fingers, smelling me and tasting the
oil on them. As I licked, I felt something else. It
was not a finger, It was far too massive for that. It
pushed against my ring, and I welcomed the invader,
pushing back against it.

It entered me suddenly and I cried out. It was too
big, it was going to split me. I struggled, but I felt
Mr. Obote's great hand stroke my head, quieting my
fear.

The huge cock that was coming inside me rested for a
moment, and then slowly began to slide within me once
more. The pressure was inexorable, and I began to
loosen under the pressure. It seemed to take forever
until William had buried himself within me, and I
could feel his balls hanging against my own.

He rested there, and I could feel the warmth within me
growing. Then he began to withdraw, first a half
stroke, and then a full one, plunging into me to the
hilt. As he penetrated me, the head of his cock ran
over a spot that made me quiver in anticipation, and
then again, and again, growing more insistent with
each stroke, slamming me against the bench, filling me
up, completely.

My tongue hung out and I drooled. My own cock shot off
without being touched, and I saw colors. I moaned and
I cried in joy at this ride, and it went on with
dramatic motion until suddenly William quivering and I
knew he was shooting his sperm deep into me, breeding
me to him. His first.

He softened, at length, and I wept as he left me. I
felt empty and void. Then suddenly there was another
cock, bigger than William's, and I cried out in joy as
it stuffed me full, and rocked on the bench, pushing
against him. I did not know who it was, Mr. Obote or
Dr. Onisha. The drum paced the motion of the cock that
penetrated me, binding me.

Then there was the moment, and the warm flood into me,
and the softening. Then another cock, and another.

There was no drumbeat for the last, so I knew it was
the servant who took me, too, four fat cocks leaving
me full of Africa. I could not move when they were
done with me, and I lay on the bench, warm cum running
from my stretched-out bud, the liquid cooling as it
ran down my white thigh.

Mr. Obete appeared before me, and I looked up
languidly as him, craving his cock in anyway I could
get it. But I could not move.

He and the Doctor helped me up, more cum leaking from
me as I stood. I was as hard as a post again, my cock
straining up against my pale belly. The drum stood
unattended by the door. They turned me and I saw
William standing before me. His smile was gentle, and
his proud cock was starting to rise again. I began to
cry.

"There, there," said the Doctor. "The initiation is
complete. You are a man now. You have been initiated
into our village, and you and William may do what you
want now. Do not be sad."

I sniffed. "I'm not sad," I said. "I want all of you
again."

Mr. Obote laughed. "Then you will have us all again.
But in the meantime, I think William would like to see
you again, this time alone."

As soon as I could walk under my own power, that is
exactly what we did. We went upstairs to his room, and
we showered together, his rich dark skin against mine,
and with my lips on that magnificent cock, and he took
me again in his bed, this time on my back, with my
legs up on his shoulders so that he could watch my
face as he drove into me.

That might be the way I liked it best with him, first
sucking and then being fucked face-to-face. We did
that a lot over the next year, until the Obetes made
preparation to return to Lagos.

I was lost when they were gone. But do you think there
is any way that I would not go to Africa and try to
find them again? Or at least something like them. The
Peace Corps seemed to be the way to do it, but that is
another story.

If you ask nicely, perhaps I will tell you.
Anymouse2003@yahoo.com