Date: Tue, 23 Jun 2015 03:45:59 +0200
From: kris Landon <kristopher.landon@mail.com>
Subject: Africa

I finished the last shift.

As a life guard, I'd spent many hours in a change room and found out that
it could be very spicy at times, watching very hot guys shuck their
clothes, sometimes reluctantly in front of their budding friends. Most of
the time, like tonight, however, it was a mundane chore filled with
screaming towel wrapped brats and and fighting with wet towels and bathers
(trunks) and waiting to get the fuck out of here and get on with things. I
was going on a world tour tomorrow and today couldn't be done fast enough.

Can't say I'm gay. Can't say I ever macked on any of the lads changing,
even the very very cute ones. But then I am a bit odd. My folks, well, my
Dad, was very super religious. My Mom died in a fire. She went back to get
something from the house and died of smoke inhalation. My brother got into
drugs very publicly and with fights with my Dad. Then I got into booze very
quietly. We both handled our Mom's death our own way. I dunno. Maybe I'm
not that odd.

Anyway, with my last shift behind me, I said goodbye to my girlfriend,
goodbye to my friends and family and tried to sleep beside my packed bags.

Most of the trip was fantastic and some of it was awful. I got robbed in
Cairo. Got sick in Cairo. Don't go to Cairo. Met friends randomly at the
Eifle tower, which was one of the weirdest most random I ever expect to
happen to me in my life.

But then, as I was walking in Kenya, the coolest wildest thing happened. I
didn't speak the language, but managed to find out that there was a place
where a traveler could stay for free. Since I was pretty low on cash after
Cairo, I was thin and cheap. Being white in Africa did afford some
benefits. I got some good advice about this place from a guy in the city
and all I had to do was walk to it and get some rest and relaxation
time. I'd been on the move for a week straight and thought it was about
time to stop.

The dirt red road looked the same as it had for the last five
kilometers. It was only a ten kilometer walk and I didn't think, or rather
hoped, that nothing would eat me on the way over. It was Africa, after
all. The green grass, green trees, beautiful sun, red dirt and me and my
tired muscles made it to a set of buildings.

The main building looked like a big flat house, and the smaller out
buildings looked like a smaller version of the big flat house. They really
didn't look like much. Everything was nothing like everything was back
home. This was exactly why I came here.

I stopped at the main house. Some Nuns greeted me. Yep, the habits and all
the religious paraphernalia was the first thing that greeted me. My super
religious father at home would have had a melt down if he knew what I was
doing. I smiled. It was an orphanage that took in strays. I figured I would
play stray for a couple days, hang out, give them some money at the end and
be on my way. Everyone would be a winner.

I didn't speak their language, one Nun did speak terrible English. Together
we sorted out the details.

"You sleep out" She said.

"Outside?" I asked. She laughed.

"No. Outside night there dangerous animals. You sleep with boys. Out...
ahhh" She struggled to find the word. I had no idea. She turned to a small
black boy and said something. I had no idea what they were saying. It
sounded like complete chaotic mumbling. He grabbed my hand. His touch was a
bit of a shock. His hand, smaller, just guessing about his age I figured it
about ten. Maybe eleven. He did seem kind of tall. Maybe fourteen? Well, it
didn't really matter. He had my hand and it was clear I was to follow him.

We went through the house, through the sitting areas, through the kitchen
and out the back door. There was a well worn trail to a little house that
looked like nothing. It was smaller, but inside was some old mattresses and
a pillow or two. The beds were made of wood in it's most raw form and they
were lined both sides of the house. There wasn't any glass in the windows
and there was a chest of drawers at the end of the house. The boy jumbled
some words at me and patted a random bed in the middle of the house.

I pointed at me. "Kris." I said. He looked at me and smiled.

"Abasi." He said slowly. Wow. I finally got one word out of the thousands
I've heard.

I shook his hand and repeated his name. "Abasi." and his smile somehow
widened.

"Kris." He said. He motioned and grabbed at my pack to put it on the bed.
Some people say that seventy percent of communication is body. This is
mostly true. The thirty percent of the words along with some of the nuances
of words can, at times, mean life or death. This time, the boy, or rather
Abasi, wanted me to put my pack on the bed. That was where I'd be staying
the next couple of days.

It was well past late afternoon and the Sun was threatening to fall. Abasi
grabbed my hand again and I willingly followed him. We went out into the
yard, that is, the space between the houses, and there appeared about ten
or twelve black boys, all with sparkling white teeth and worn old clean
clothes. They smiled and the cacophony of language was almost deafening.

They mobbed me.

White guys don't stop by much I guess. They touched my dirty blond hair as
I knelt down so that we could all be on the same level. My hair was a mess
and was threatening to turn into dreadlocks. I did it, I think, to offend
my father. If he were here. I was not terribly clean cut and I found
exploring boy fingers on my face touching my patchy scruff that wasn't
quite a beard. They touched my arm and were looking at my tan line.

No. I wasn't terribly open minded and had a very distinctive white patch of
skin above my ultra conservative gray boxer briefs.

Then they were touching my tan line. Then they were trying to touch below
my tan line.

"Woah woah woah!" I stood up. The boys laughed as they still talked, all
excited, all gibberish to my English ears.

Then a Nun appeared and said some words and the boys scattered. She then
said to me, "Food time."

I smiled. Saved by the bell, I guess.  Supper, as we call it, "Food time"
as Sister Jamala called it, was simple and scarce. A meat of some sort,
some vegetable of a kind and bugs, maybe. I ate it all. Not eating anything
on your plate in Africa is a very large very unforgivable insult.

And the sun sank.

The food was done and before the last ray of light disappeared behind the
horizon, I found myself hand in hand with Abasi, who it would seem was my
unofficial tour guide.

He took me back to the shed where my pack was and before I knew it there
was me, a twenty year old hunky lily-white-assed ex-lifeguard in the midst
of a bunch of white teethed beautiful black orphans. A single bare bulb
hung above the beds and was turned on as the shutters over the windows were
closed.

The second thing they did was take off their clothes.

There were no Nuns and it would seem that there were none coming. Of course
the heat of the day was slow to bleed off and with no fans, we just sort of
sat there. It didn't take me long to strip down to my nice gray shorts. The
boys all watched as they expected me to go further.

Abasi said some words and touched my underpants and was prying under to see
my very white non-tanned ass. I gently grabbed his hands and indicated I
didn't approve. One of the older boys said something and Abasi said
something to me. It could have been an apology of some sort.

I smiled. That was an international signal among all the people of the
world. All was good.

Abashi, it would seem, had just hit puberty and his balls were low and his
hair, the blackest curliest substance on the face of the earth smudged the
top of his boys. He smiled back.

All of the lads were perfectly fine buck naked, no ounce of fat between the
thirteen of them. I finally counted. Some of them were even rubbing their
hardened wieners. I being straight, obviously, averted my eyes from the
masturbaters and let them have their privacy. Also a visitor, I wouldn't
want to make them feel uncomfortable, if this, and obviously was, their
natural way of doing things.

Nudity, it seemed, was totally okay among them along with openly rubbing
their stuff. Being blunt, and since they were so open with their sex, I
would have to say: Their cocks were big! The older boys had ones bigger
than mine and I wasn't short changed in that department either, though
there was a couple boys, about eight or nine that had perfect small
packages without any hair anywhere private whatsoever. Smooth
everywhere. All thirteen were impressive in a variety of ways.

I pulled out my sleeping bag and was tucked on top of it, because it was
way too hot to tuck into it, and the long day and ten kilometer walk didn't
take long to settle on me and before I knew it, I was asleep. Naked black
boys masturbating boys or not, I was god-damned-spent.

The first rays of light poked through the cracks of the shutters. Then they
were flung open. Sunlight flooded the shack. I had a woody. It was average
among these peers. I didn't really try to hide it. Well, the morning wood
came. The other naked boys, well, some of them had wooders too and I didn't
think that considering I was smaller than some of the massive cocks around
me, cloaked with my religious underwear needed to hide anything.

Abasi stared at it without trying to conceal it. I got harder. Then I put
on my cargo shorts and a light white tee shirt. The other boys
dressed. Everything softened.

Breakfast consisted of some food. There was nothing really describable on
the table.

Sister Jamala said, "Kris. Boys swim. Be careful. Monsters in middle of
lake."

Oh. Did I forget to mention that the whole place was on the edge of a
beautiful fucking lake? A gorgeous body of water I figured was infested
with crocodiles or something. Sister Jamala, in four very broken
non-sentences told me that the shores were fine, but 'danger' lurked in the
middle. I did a mental catalog of the wildlife in Kenya. There was nothing
dangerous that lived only in the center of a body of fresh water. It was
probably a myth to save the boys from drowning in the deep end.

And I loved to swim.

I didn't get to be a lifeguard by staying in the shallow end.

So first thing, morning swim. Holy-fucking-shit-hallelujah! The boys got to
the edge of the lake and flogged their clothes on the ground. Of course
they swam naked.

This is Africa.

I did the same, but with my nice bathers strategically placed underneath.

Not all of them. Of course. I'm straight. Right? And besides. They would
laugh at this lily-white ass. And I'm not gay. I don't like boys. But they
were there. Black boys with no fat. Muscles carved their stomachs. Big
uncut cocks. Perfection of the boy in all sorts of black. They were
completely beautiful. I didn't pause to reflect.


My blue bathers, embarrassment as they may, be let me in the lake without
the stain of sin, or at least that's what I told myself my father would
say. And then, with the water all around, the young boys at the shore. And
something inside of me, profound, gave.

I hadn't been in the water for over six months.

I missed this.

I swam.

The strokes, even, and trying to become perfect with every stroke, I moved
through the water as if I was one with it. Stroke, stroke stroke, breathe
right side, stroke stroke stroke, breath left side. The kicking was
rhythmic. The African sun shone on my back and my christian blue bathers
kept my maggot white ass maggot white.

Why wouldn't I show these very open young orphans my weenie?

Why am I so suffocating?

Why do I not accept sex and allow some feel goodness in my life?

I never did it with my ex-girlfriend. Why? Religious taboos or just because
I tell myself I'm straight?

Stroke stroke stroke breath.

My inner questions never quite gave the answer, but when I pulled myself up
on to the shore with thirteen beautiful, hormone charged, well hung teens
and pre-teens, I felt myself just let go. I wanted to enjoy life.

The day went slow. I wanted the pre-sleep shenanigans that my imagination
allowed. I imagined me letting them see beyond my bathers, where the sun
had not shone. I imagined some pretty fucking kinky shit, and then after
hours and hours of African life, it was supper.

It was grim again. I noticed that no one complained. It was food. It would
keep us all alive another day. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that a Ssiter
did some prayer. I bowed my head like them and was very respectful of their
religious beliefs.

She had that same pious monotone that is in all religious ceremonies. As
she droned on, I pictured the night before, with the boys quickly shucking
their clothes and rubbing their cocks. I boned up.

Do they rub each other? Do they suck? Do they do the unmentionable up the
ass trick?

They surely will burn in hell for that if they do. I nearly started to
laugh and it was all I could to contain the burst of laughter in the middle
of the prayer.

"Amen."

I ate the food. It was gross. It tasted gross. It stuck in my teeth, the
gristle that is, of the meat. I think it may have been goat. I didn't ask
about the stuff I thought was insect. Well, I never asked about any of
it. I ate it and I didn't die of starvation.

Again the African Sun sank. Funny eh. It was the same sun back home, but
somehow, because I'm on the opposite side of the world, without anyone
knowing who I am, or anyone to remember what sin what I've done, or about
to do, it becomes the African sun.

It is the same fucking sun and it shines on us all.

And again, Abasi's hand found mine. This time I found myself holding his
back. We walked back to the sleeping hut, or whatever it was. I swung our
hands. It was fun to let things loose. He smiled and talked. I had no idea
what he was saying. So when he stopped, I started telling him of my
girlfriend.

"We never had sex, or made love, or fucked or whatever you want to call
it." I said.

Abasi never said anything back. He just smiled and looked at me and we
stopped walking. Abasi tried to let go of my hand. I held it anyway. He
stopped letting go as I talked.

"We were sort of on the same page. I think I loved her. I loved the way she
talked and the way she did stuff, you know, but then she would do stuff
that just made me mad. I think she really loved me. She didn't want me to
come here. She didn't want me to expand my horizons. She didn't want me to
learn about life. She was content with the small town life. I wanted to
live. Live life and travel to see boys like you and to expand. To be a
better Kris. It's a shame you have no fucking idea what I'm saying." I
laughed. And Abasi laughed too, though I don't know what about.

We were the last to enter the sleeping house.

The naked black boys were everywhere. All thirteen of them. And the ones
with black hair above, well, most of them, were horny.

I didn't know if I should have done it. I'd never done anything like it
before. I guess you got to try it to know if you like it or not. I'm not
gay. I did mention that?

I dropped the conservative gray underpants to the floor and had every boy
in the place looking at my maggot white ass and at my amputated white
penis. There was a lot of talking. I have no clue what they said. Abasi was
going to reach out and touch it.

It was hard.

It was sticking up as hard as I remember it ever sticking.

He stopped.

He looked up at me and asked some question.

I grabbed his wrist an guided him to it.

His touch sent electricity through my soul. Well, through my cock and balls
and then up through my stomach and then to my brain. I guess that's soul.

He was naked too. Well, we all were. All fourteen of us.

Before I knew it there was a crowd around my thing. Everyone touched it.
They fondled it. They ran their fingers through my pubic hair, which was
dark, not quite black, and they touched every part of my that was maggot
white. The bare light bulb in the center tragically showed how nasty I was.

I just laid back and let them explore.

The curiosity changed to lust. Lust? I felt the rhythm. Someone was jerking
me. So I just reached out to the first cock I could find. It wasn't that
hard, or difficult as I should say. We were all hard. There were thirteen
of them.

I touched him.

He was warm. No. Hot. I think he was surprised. But also enjoyed it too.

I stroked him.

Before I knew it Abasi's voice rose and there was some conflict. He was
angry and then an exchange of words. The other boys seemed to back off,
well, at least most of them.

Abasi ended up talking, or I should say arguing, at length with an older
boy. He had a horse between his legs all highlighted by the bare bulb. They
argued at length.

And then I clued in.

It was about me.

So I took Abasi's hand and then I hugged him. I was butt naked and so was
he. My father would have killed me. But even more so after what happened
next.

I kissed Abasi's neck, so tenderly. He was a boy. He was a man. In that
moment, he loved me and I loved him. The older boy disappeared and the
naked bulb went dim.

All was mostly silent as I kissed Abasi and caressed him. He did me.

I mean we did the unspeakable things they mention in the bible. We did them
all.

At one point, I had Abasi pinned between the mattress and my hard body,
dick in. Stroke stroke stroke. He took it. He liked it. He wanted more.

I jizzed. I was done. He was not.

I let him have me.

We awoke the same as the last, except we were entangled in naked intertwine
of naked male flesh.

The shutters opened and the African sun blasted in.

The next day was a repeat. The night after was nearly the same.


Africa is amazing.

I stayed as long as my itinerary let me, but one day I said good bye to
everyone, Abasi had the saddest face of them all, but I had to come back to
civilization.