Date: Tue, 31 Oct 2000 22:27:17 +0200
From: FirstHand <firsthand@global.co.za>
Subject: Zambia men

Zambian corporal

He said his name was George. I was expecting a more Zambian name, forgetting
that one unfortunate legacy of British rule on the indigenous Zambians was the
habit of using European first names for their offspring. And he was a corporal,
on his way home from army camp for a long weekend to spend with his wife and
child. Good looking, especially in his uniform, late twenties. He sat in the
passenger seat as we drove towards Lusaka. It was going to take just over two
hours, I expected. Nice to have the company of a black Zambian male filling the
car with a man smell. Possibly even horny enough for some African action.

I would have time to find out.

So what were his interests. It seemed he spent most of time in the Zambian Army
playing football, that's soccer in this context. There were drill and exercises
and so on, but he was on the camp football team, and there were frequent team
practises and the regular matches against other camps and other teams.

He was due to finish his service in about 8 months time, and was really not sure
what he was going to do then, apart of course go back home and live with his
wife. He asked if I could help him visit his mother and sisters in Lusaka on the
way, then he would take off again hitching south from the capital for another
hour or so. Sure, I said, not exactly with any clear idea of how I was going to
get to him and where, but glad of the chance of prolonging the opportunity.

He told me a bit about his wife. Then he started talking about religion and his
Christian faith. My heart sank. Was this going to be a wasted journey? He asked
if I had faith in what I wanted to do in life. You must have that, to guide you
in what you want to do. He had had a revelation about the way to live and heard
voices. I said very little in response to all this and it was very
non-committal. I was daring enough, however, to suggest that the voices one
hears might be because one wanted to hear them.

At around half way, he suggested we stop and get something to drink. We bought
some soft drinks and a bite to eat at a wayside cafe and sat on some logs at the
edge of the car park.

We chatted about various things and I gradually turned the conversation about
life in camp. Were there any women there, and how did the guys manage for sex?
There only a small town and it was already 15 kilometres from the camp so there
wasn't much opportunity.

`So do some of the guys do it with each other? That's happens everywhere else I
know like that.'

He grinned. `Yes, there are some that do. Men always want sex even when there no
women.'

`Is it true that black men have bigger cocks than white men? What about the guys
in the camp? Do you have some men from the Congo there? I've heard that they
have big dicks.''

`Yes, there are some, but they seem to be the same size as us Zambians.' He
looked at me straight. `Are you interested in black men's cocks?'

`Well, I wish mine was as big as some of the black guys I've seen', I said.

We finished our snacks and got back in the car. He told me that when he took me
to visit his sisters, there was a girl he wanted to look up. He wanted to have
sex with her, before he went south. He said that he could also find one for me.
Apparently this was quite common -- he didn't have any hang ups about fucking
with the local girls that he'd grown up with. So may be all the talk earlier
about faith and voices didn't stop him from having a good old horny, randy,
fucking time when he felt like it.

My spirits rose. As we drove he turned the conversation back to the size of
black men's dicks. There were ways he said to make your dick bigger. I said
that I'd heard that the Shangaan had really big dicks (They're from just
south of the Zimbabwe border with South Africa.) Yes, he said he'd heard
that too. But if I wanted to see really big dicks, then the Mozambicans
from around Maputo were the biggest.

They hung weights on the end of their dicks to make them longer. I said I didn't
think that would really work, but he assured me that it did.
`I just wish mine was bigger,' I said. `I bet yours is bigger than mine!'
`It's quite big', he said, `when it's hard'. He leaned back in his seat. The
effect of talking about dicks and big ones was by now very visible. `It's
getting hard now'. The uniform was fairly tight, and the outline of his
stiffening cock showed down his left leg. I looked at it. I stared at it. He
watched me.

`Do you want to feel it?'

I nodded. I reached over and stroked the hard length of it. It was stuck
inside somehow in his underpants. He lifted himself off the seat and
adjusted it so that I could get a good feel of it. After a few minutes, as
I tried to drive and enjoy feeling him, I reached for the zip.

He stopped me, and unzipped himself and took it out of his uniform
pants. It was muscled and firm, like a sportsman's dick should be. And big
and long and solid. And black and beautiful.

He lay back and enjoyed my hand caressing his soldier manhood, his army
glory, his football trophy.

`Can we do something when we get to Lusaka,' I asked, `I would like to suck
that for you and anything else you'ld like to do'.

`I want to go and meet this girl', he said, as I rolled his magnificent
man-meat in my loving hand.

`And if you can't find her, will you come with me? We can go to my hotel, and
have a good time.'

He thought for a moment about that. I waited in suspense. Was he weighing my
`good time' against the good time for a girl fuck in the township?

`Will you take me there to meet my mother and sisters, and wait? Then if I
can't find her, I will come with you.' So, second best to a township easy
lay -- was there a choice?

`Sure', I said.

He let me keep his beautiful black tool in my hand for the ten minutes or so
until we start meeting people on the road outside Lusaka. The he put it away
back in his uniform pants, with some difficulty, and started talking about how
it was growing up where he lived, and gradually his dick went down so you
couldn't see it was hard.

I didn't want to wait for him with all my stuff, so we went to the hotel first
and I dumped it in the room - I'd only been away for the day. He waited in the
car, and was listening to music on the radio when I got back to it. He directed
me down to the poorer quarter of town. We drove past streets with pavement
stalls, and queues of combi taxis. Finally we took a wide unlit dirt road
towards the township. A sharp left turn then about a mile of dirt road, and we
were in an unlit street with single storey houses on one side. He got out of the
car, and said 'Come - you must meet my mother. I will say you are one of the
football coaches at the camp.' Mother and one of the sisters cam out of the
house and we shook hands and exchanged trivial pleasantries.
Then we got back in the car. By now it was getting dark. The family had
disappeared back into the house. `Drive over there', he said, `and wait - I will
go and look for the girl. And I will find one for you as well - they are very
cheap, and they are good to make love to.'
I parked and settled down to wait as he disappeared into the growing darkness.
It was scary waiting on my own in an unlit car in an unknown area on an unlit
street in a city I didn't know well, with shadowy figures passing by every few
minutes. He was a long time.
By the time he got back I was very nervous, and would have been quite relieved
for him to say he'd found the girl and we would part. He got back in the car.
`I couldn't find her or her friend,' he said, `let us go to the hotel. Maybe I
will find them later.'
I drove back o the hotel, my spirits recovering slowly. Before we arrived at the
hotel, I said we should at least split up to get to my room. There was no need,
he said. He was a soldier of the Zambian Army, and nobody was going to ask any
questions. So he accompanied me totally unconcerned into the lift, and along the
corridor to my room, past several hotel security people, one of whom I thought
gave us a very funny look, but at last we were inside.

Together. Him and his beautiful black cock and footballer's body, and nowhere to
go but to get pleasured. And me.

`Let us shower,' he said, `I am sweaty from the journey.'

He took his uniform off without ceremony or embarrassment, stripping down to his
black nakedness swiftly before I had a chance to make anything of it. I
undressed hastily to match his nakedness. His body was slim, muscled and wiry.
His black skin gleamed in the bedside light. His cock was already starting to
rise. I went to him and took it in my hands and started to fondle it.

`Come,' he said, and led the way to the bathroom. We got the shower ready,
rubbing our bodies together as we turned the taps, adjusted the flow, got the
heat right. My dick was so stiff it hurt. His black cock was erect and throbbing
in the bright light of the bathroom. We got into the shower, and started soaping
each other's bodies. The white foam cascaded over his trim, muscular body, firm
black muscles creating a wondrous sensual slippery symphony of sexy soaping.

He soaped first under the warm jets, and I ran my hands all over his back, his
front, lingering gently on his engorged shaft and lovingly opening up the crack
between his high rounded buttocks. He let me run my finger towards his arse
crack, and touch his secret spot. Before I could try entering him with my
probing finger, he turned and started soaping me. I turned towards the taps. He
stood behind me. I felt backwards for his dick and positioned it so that it
almost probed my eager fuck-hole. He slipped it up instead between my arse
cheeks and held me closer with his strong brown hands around my hips. He rubbed
his swollen tool up between my buttocks. I felt the length and strength of him.

We cleaned off and got out of the bath. We tried drying each other, which
was OK for a while. I loved the feeling of his young dark body under the
towel. But obviously I wasn't reaching the remaining wet spots. He took
over, and as he was drying himself, I dropped to my knees and took his hard
cock into my mouth. He finished drying while I enjoyed the man taste of his
throbbing tool.

Then he lifted me up off my knees. `Let's go to the bed', he said.

He lay on the bed on his side, so I joined him face to face. He felt for my
dick and soon we were gently stroking each other's raging hard ons. I
wasn't sure how much to expect from him - but it seemed he had no hang ups
about pleasuring me.  At least up to this point.

I tried to get my head down to his dick again, but he stopped me, and asked
if I had the condom. I showed where I had set it ready at the side of the
bed. I lay on my back, while he knelt in front, straddling over me. As I
watched, he skillfully unwrapped the condom, and slipped it over the long
length of his fuck pole. He applied some grease to it. Then he used his
greased finger to rub around and into my arse hole. I don't know who he had
done it with before, but I guessed that I wasn't the first.

He lifted my legs and put them over his shoulders. I arched my back to
raise my hole level with his waiting cock. I was open and ready and
waiting.  My arse hole twitched with the thought of his hard dick about to
slip into me.

Long hard dick. Stiff black cock. Slippery solid man tool. Thick throbbing
shaft.

`Shall I do it?', he asked.

`Fuck me please'. He lifted my legs with his hands. He moved his cock
towards my hole and felt for the centre, keeping his hands on my legs. All
by itself it found the entry spot. `Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.....'

The soldier's muscles on his stomach tightened as he slipped the head into my
hole. In that position my muscles were tight so he had to force it into me, but
so gently and with such skill.

Slowly he leaned forward, the weight of his beautiful naked black body
thrusting his raging erection deeper and deeper into my fuck channel. I
tried to relax and let him into me, and as I did he slid the remaining
shaft up to the balls into my arse hole.

`Hold still a minute'. My hole got used to the length of him inside me. He
waited, watching my face. I nodded.

`Now I will fuck you very well', he said. I couldn't argue with that.

He moved unrelentingly into and out of my hot, abused hole. His muscles
coordinated like the sportsman he was, thrusting his long thick dark brown man
pole deep into me time and time again, using my butt for his pleasure. Then
holding off and teasing the entrance with the swollen head of it, till I ached
for him to shove it hard up me once more. He played my senses like an
instrument - of his lust and of mine.
`Now I fuck you like a woman - do you like that?'
`I like it very much'.

He sustained the experience for us for nearly ten minutes - ten minutes of
fuck sliding dick thrusting cock squeezing arse hole filling ecstasy.
As he neared his climax he said
`Now I'm coming very soon', but with a question in it. `Yes, please,' I gasped,
the breath forced out of me by his regular athletic pounding of my defenceless
fuck chute, `come inside me, shoot your hot man spunk in me.'

His strong black torso glowed muscular in the shaded light, his face alight with
the physical joy of imminent ejaculation, his control over my spread-eagled
submissive naked body complete. I squeezed my arse hole muscles to stop him
entering, knowing how it would feel to him. Excitedly he forced through them.
The new tightness sent him finally into spasms of orgasm as his man spunk
spurted, black sweating body over me, man muscle buried to the hilt inside me as
his man seed shot strongly from his soldier's weapon, his real weapon, not the
one the army gave him.

We lay for a while, him still inside resting his spent body on my chest.
`That was good', he said, `I like to fuck you very much.'

He still lay. I wondered how much sexual appetite he would have left for later,
if he went back to his home.

We cleaned up, and he said he was going back. I gave him some money - enough to
buy the girl that it seemed he still lusted after. At least he said he did.
`If you come to Lusaka again, here is my address,' he said, `and if you can
bring me some football boots, size 9, I will be very grateful.' I took it and
said I would write to him if I was coming again.

How could I refuse an offer to get militarily fucked by the Zambian Army
one more time?
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As promised in `Zimbabwe Men' (aka `African Action'), this is another
FIRSTHAND story from the African continent.  Still to come - Zaire, a
second episode from Zimbabwe, one from Maputo in Mozambique ....