Date: Sun, 14 Dec 2003 18:47:36 -0800 (PST)
From: Bob Archman <bldhrymn@yahoo.com>
Subject: Private Journal 1

The Private Journal of Dr. Alexander MacAfee

Part 1

by Bald Hairy Man

This is an adult gay story intended for adult gay men.  If you are offended
by this or are not an adult, gay or a man, DON'T READ IT.  It has a lot of
sex between adult men, many of whom are older, hairy, bearded, and in this
case of several different races.  If this offends you, DON'T READ IT.  If
you have any comments send them to bldhrymn@aol.com or bldhrymn@yahoo.com.

When I saw the steamer, the Augusta, in April of 1888, I had a sense of
foreboding. Even in the bustle and confusion of Calcutta's harbor, it was
unimpressive. The steamer that brought me from England had been a modern
ship. Unfortunately, a storm at the Cape of Good Hope had delayed us and
the connecting steamer to New South Wales had sailed.

The ship was unimpressive, but shone in comparison to the Captain and his
crew. Captain Hargrove had a stern eye, but reeked of Gin.  As I boarded
the ship at 9:00 in the morning, I took this as a bad sign. My cabin was
small, hot and smelled of its previous occupant.  It was none too clean
either.  There were few passengers, a Methodist Missionary, Herbert Jones
and his mousy wife; Bill Smith, a young engineer going to Australia, and an
Anglican priest, William Williams, and his mousy wife.

In the motley group, I stood out.  I was going to Sydney to assume the
Chair of the Philosophy Department of a newly established University there.
No one cared about that at all, but I happened to be 6'-6" tall, and am a
muscular man, with prematurely white hair and a bushy beard, which makes me
look like the Spirit of Christmas Past in Mr. Dickens' novel.

When I say I stand out, it is simply a statement of physical reality.

My academic career has been distinguished, but unorthodox. The general
description was "brilliant, but undisciplined."  The curse of my career is
my belief in the value of intellectual and scientific investigation. I feel
that such investigations free us from irrational fears and terrors and
liberates us from vile superstition. My study on the worship of Mithras in
the Roman Empire made it necessary to leave England and take a position in
Australia.

Mithras was an ancient deity who was born on the 25th of December of a
virgin in a cave and had 12 followers, was unjustly murdered and rose again
from the dead.  I stated, it was obvious that large portions of the Mithras
story was integrated into the life of Christ at an early date. I was
actually told it was the other way around, even though the worship of
Mithras pre-dated Christ by centuries, if not a millennium.

Thus I was on my way to Sydney. My fellow passengers were unlikely to be
receptive to my intellectual interests, so I had little hope the voyage
would be anything but long and hot.

If anything I misjudged the situation.  One of the streamer's boilers
failed and our pace went from being slow, to glacial.  The heat was
inhumane, and made worse by the Methodist couple's sense of propriety.  The
Captain too was oddly formal.  In his drunken stupor, he must have
fantasized he was on a great ship.  They insisted we dress for meals and
would brook no informalities.  For two weeks we had to wear coats and ties
in the steamy dining area of the Augusta.

While some accused me of being religiously unorthodox, I always have
believed in a just and merciful God. When the Methodist Minister collapsed
of heat prostration and they took to their cabin, I saw God's
judgement. The Anglican Minister's wife similarly stopped going to diner
and the atmosphere in the dining room relaxed considerably; the Captain
required coats be worn to the room, but not during the meal.

One of the crew members, a strapping fellow named Ransom, told me of a
place near the bow, where it was possible to strip nearly naked outside of
the view of the ladies and the Captain too.  Ransom was a redheaded
Irishman, short, stocky and massive.

"If you don't mind being with the crew, there's a good breeze there."
Ransom explained.  I went there and it was all he said it was. The ship was
an old one, but had been modified by adding another deck. This was a
portion of the original deck, which hadn't been roofed over.  As the ship
moved forward the movement created a breeze in this small area.  We were
heading east, so the area was sunny in the morning, but in full shade after
noon, the hottest part of the day.  I became a habitual visitor to the
secret deck.

At first I wore a shirt and trousers, but most of the crew simply wore
under shorts or tied a rag around their privates.  There was an Australian
Aborigine, who was a cabin boy, porter. He stripped naked and no one gave
it a thought. As the weeks dragged on, we all began to understand the
Aborigine's nudity. They called him Dyack, but he hated this. He wasn't a
Dyack; he was from another tribe.  He spoke some English and I found out
his real name.  It was unpronounceable, but we arrived at Pongo as a
respectable and acceptable substitute.

I got the crew to call him by this name and Pongo regarded me with great
respect. He had looked on me with considerable concern at first.  I
realized he had never seen anyone as big as me and when he discovered I was
mortal, polite and liked him, he became very helpful.

Both Ransom and Pongo stood out from the rest of the crew.  Most of these
men were the dregs of society; toothless, consumed by drink and
tobacco. Ransom was a ruddy, healthy, bear-like man.  The crew called him
Red. On the cool lower deck, I discovered the red hair covered most of his
body. Pongo was dark skinned, very muscular, almost a Black Hercules. His
eyes and teeth were white, but the rest of him was dark and covered in
curly black hair. He was not a handsome man by any conventional standard of
beauty, but I suspected among his own people he was considered handsome.

We were steaming across the north coast of Australia when the remaining
engine began to act oddly. I woke one morning to find the ship completely
becalmed. The air was thick and uncomfortable. By noon, the sky had clouded
over; a wind began to blow and gather in strength. I don't know much about
ships, but being unable to maneuver the ship in bad winds was not good.

By three in the afternoon, we were in a fulled-fledged typhoon. By the next
morning, it was clear to me unless the winds stopped the ship was lost.


There was no order to abandon ship. The Captain had washed overboard
sometime during the night. The crew was nowhere to be found, except for
Ransom and Pongo. The lifeboats were gone too. At the time it struck me as
a disaster, but not one of the lifeboats was ever found, so it may have
been a blessing in disguise.

Smith, the engineer, suggested we make a raft, so we ripped up the wood
paneling and used the massive dining room table as the floor of a
raft. Ransom, Pongo, the Anglican Priest, Williams and I built the
raft. The Methodists were too sick with fear to be of help. Mrs. Williams
was pregnant as it turned out and couldn't help.

There was a lull in the storm, which we used to launch the raft. The
Methodists thought the storm was over. Ransom said, we were in the eye.  He
was right.  Remarkably we all survived the first night and the next
day. The storm finally abated two days later.

It wasn't a good situation.  We had no idea where we were. There was
nothing to indicate land was near by, and our raft had no means of
propulsion.  Mrs. Williams gave up her dress and most of her petticoats to
provide some shelter from the sun.  Mrs. Williams was not in good shape,
but she was a gallant woman and never complained.  She did everything
possible to help our situation.  She was the first to die. We said a
prayer, then put her over the side.  The Rev. Mr. Williams was in shock and
wanted to keep her body on the boat. I asked him if he had seen the famous
French painting, "the Raft of the Medusa."  He had heard of it. It was of a
raft of survivors of a shipwreck who resorted to cannibalism.

Williams understood. Rev. Jones didn't.  He died the next day.  Mrs. Jones
was as unhelpful as a single person could be.  She whined and cried and did
nothing that even remotely could be considered useful.

Ransom, Pongo and I had been in the sun on the rear deck of the
Augusta. Neither Rev. Williams nor Mrs. Jones had been exposed to the sun.
Mrs. Jones's face and arms got badly burned.  Williams had the same
problem, but bore it well.

We had no water and little food and after three days the situation was bad.
I heard a strange noise. At first I thought it was an engine, but Pongo
figured out what it was first. It was the chanting of warriors. We were
soon captured by a fierce group of painted aboriginals. We were all tied up
to poles, loaded into their war canoes and carried off.  Mrs. Jones was
carried in one boat and we never saw her again.  The men were paced in two
canoes.

We traveled for two days and landed on a sandy beach. Much to our surprise
and even more to the surprise of the tribesmen, when we landed the Engineer
was gone.  Bill was a very resourceful man and I hoped he could get to
civilization and send help.  I had to admit, I assumed we were to be
sacrificed and eaten.  We were left on the beach for a while as the
tribesmen vanished into the jungle. There was a huge din somewhere nearby
and our captors reappeared, jumped in their boats and raced away.

A second group of aborigines appeared a few minutes later.  They were from
a different tribe.  Like the first, they were painted and wore massive
headdresses.  Unlike the first group, they were otherwise completely
naked. They also carried the heads of some of the first group, attached to
a string, tied around their waists.  Several had the severed genitals of
the vanquished.  They looked at us with great interest, talking, dancing
and gesturing.

Pongo started to talk in their language. I didn't get the impression they
could understand him completely, but they did understand some things he
said. A big, bearded man yelled something and the men lifted up the poles
we were tied to and ran into the jungle. It was a long and bumpy
ride. Eventually we reached a village and we were dumped in a central area.

Soon, hundreds of the tribesmen gathered around us. Some were warriors;
others weren't covered in war paint. Several looked a bit like Pongo and I
hoped they were kinsmen of some sort.  They brought in several wounded
men. They were of the vanquished tribe and they were beheaded.  It looked
as if this was going to be a very bad day.

A group of white haired, bearded men looked us over. Pongo talked to
them. They cut him free and we were carried into a big thatched
building. They cut us free and cut off all of our clothes.  None of them
wore any clothes. They tied our hands and strung the bonds over the roof
timbers.  We stood naked in the hut.

"There are no women here, that's good." Ransom said.

"Why is that?"

"The women do the torturing in most of these tribes." he said. "They killed
those prisoners neat and easy.  We'll be lucky if we go that easily." I
looked at Williams. He was just staring into space. I think he was in
shock.  That might be for the best too, I thought.

"We don't have a chance do we?" I asked.

"A thousand to one, I would guess." Ransom said. "I don't know what Pongo
is doing. He might be able to save us."  He took a long look at me for the
first time.

"You're hung like a fucking horse!" he exclaimed.  "You'd have won the
first prize in the Crystal Palace cock contest. "By Appointment to Her
Majesty Queen Victoria," You'd have made her forget Prince Albert."

It is strange, but here I was about to meet my maker and someone notices my
cock.  I knew it was big, but it hadn't been real useful for me.  I was
unmarried and not given to associating with loose women. I worked at a
University and men didn't mention such things. Looking at Ransom, I saw he
was well endowed too. I might have been mistaken, but I thought his cock
was partially erect.

I was shocked when I realized it was my cock causing the erection. Even
worse, I realized my cock was firming up a bit.  Just then a bunch of
warriors came with clubs and knives. They cut us down and forced us back
into the central area again.  As we went out, my cock just got harder and
harder.

There was an incredible din of yelling, chanting and screaming outside in
the sun filled square. The warriors took us to the middle of the square,
then ran back and joined the crowd. We stood completely naked and fully
erect in the middle of a hundred or more men.  Suddenly, there was stunned
silence.

Looking back, it is stupid to say what I thought at the time.  As a
virtuous, levelheaded Englishman of my era, I assumed they were shocked at
our nudity. I looked around and realized every single one of them was nude.
Several of the older, white haired men walked forward very slowly.

I wondered if they were going to kill us now. Being erect in public had to
be an abomination, or at very least a scandal.  Certainly, we were cursed
and doomed. I had joked for years, I always stood out in a crowd and never
as much as now. No one in England guessed or suspected my cock was the size
it is. Now it was rock hard and drooling in front of hundreds of
tribesmen. A drip of something escaped from my cock and fell to the ground
connected to my cock by a filament of my genital fluids.

I said to myself, die like a man. I looked the big man at the center of the
group in the eye. He was staring at my cock. I looked down his body and saw
his cock was erect too. He was the biggest of the men and must have been 5'
5 or 5'-6". His big, white beard was similar to mine.

He knelt down in front of me.  He leaned toward me and licked my cock,
drool and all. I don't know what happened, but I had an orgasm. I had never
shot off like that before in my life. If my balls could have fit through
the piss tunnel, they'd have shot out too. I couldn't stop shooting. I
looked down at he poor man.

He was covered in my sperm.  His face, his beard, his chest, his gut, all
were splattered with my cum.  Some was sitting on the curly white hair that
covered his chest, some was running down his body like rain. Some reached
his pubic hair; some dripped onto his cock.

He stood. I assumed he would kill me now. He looked up at my face.  I
looked at him. I saw awe in his eyes. It was as if he had discovered the
Holy Grail. He was close to me and his cock touched mine.  I reached down
and stroked his bloated member. A second later, I felt the splatter of his
man seed against my body. Now I was drenched in his seed.

A huge glob of his cum hit the center of my chest and sat on my thick mat
of chest hair. I collected it on a finger, lifted it to my mouth and ate
it. He looked at me with fear in his eyes. I smiled at him and nodded. He
looked relieved.

He turned away from me and shouted something to the crowd. They began
chanting again. But this time it was a quiet and peaceful chant.  It struck
me it was halfway between a love song and a hymn.  He motioned for me to
follow him.  I put my arms around Ransom and Williams and we all walked
toward the building that turned out to be the Chieftain's lodge. I didn't
want anything to happen to either of the men and assumed being close to me
was a good thing for them.

Inside it was dark and almost cool. In the middle of the lodge to the rear
was another house. It was identical to the lodge, but in miniature.  The
chieftain proceeded to the house and opened the thatched door. He reached
in and brought out a statue of a man. It was about three feet high and
rudimentary from an anatomical point of view. The face on the top was
painted pink, with bright blue eyes. The body was schematic except for the
genitals, which were carved in great detail.  There was absolutely no
question; the statue sported a half size carving of my cock and balls.

"Holy shit!" Ransom said. "You are the Great White God."