Out of Africa

Chapter I

A

ll this happened to me over forty years ago in Africa, in a world that was slowly adapting to a future without its former white rulers. It was an exciting time and for a young man fresh out of veterinary college it was the place to go for adventure before settling down into the family practice. In those days a government scheme for voluntary service was in operation and I applied soon after I qualified. After some initial training, I was lucky enough to get one of the plum assignments up-country, working in one of the new tourist game reserves. I couldn't wait to get started, so not long afterwards, a very green VSO volunteer emerged from a tiny 'plane onto a dusty airfield at the end of a bumpy flight from the Capital.

Any dreams I may have had of being a

'Great White Hunter'

were soon shattered when I learnt that I would be spending most of my time surveying the native cattle for signs of disease. My boss–a dour Rhodesian–kitted me out with a Land Rover with a broken windshield; two jolly African park rangers,(poachers were rife in the area) and a young black technician, who for reasons that will become apparent, I'll call Patrick.

A sheaf of notes, a map and a few battered surgical instruments were my stock in trade for the days that followed; Patrick and I tested, injected and measured hundreds of the bony, humpbacked cattle that roamed the plains. The local Muran Masai herdsmen were a terrific bunch––friendly, hospitable and highly amused by our antics as we tried to examine their charges. When the day's work was done, we would take our battered old Land Rover far out into the bush and Patrick would introduce me to the spectacular wildlife that surrounded us. He had a wealth of knowledge and I soon became his willing pupil––just as he was mine during the working day.

Patrick and I got on really well together, but try as I might, I couldn't break through his reserved manner. At first I put it down to his innate shyness, but I soon realised that I was dealing with the old colonial attitude and that the colour of our skins somehow set us apart. For someone fresh from rural England, where a black face was still a rarity, I found it hard to understand.

Although we were about the same age and alike in many ways, our upbringing couldn't have been more different: It had always been assumed that I would become a vet. and follow my father into his country practice, but Patrick had only his brains and determination to see him through. I resolved to help him as much as I could, and a call to my father over a crackling 'phone line eventually resulted in the arrival of a box of my old textbooks from England. I felt a pang of conscience as I unpacked them, for some had hardly been opened, but Patrick handled them with reverence. It gave me a good feeling to know that they would be cherished, rather than left to gather dust at home. With the books came a gift for him from my father; a carefully wrapped parcel containing a stethoscope and a small kit of surgical instruments. Patrick was ecstatic when he saw them and threw his arms around me and hugged me hard. His joy was infectious and we capered around the campsite like a pair of idiots, while our two park rangers looked on in bewilderment. The last barrier between us had gone and I was seeing the real Patrick for the first time. Our friendship began then and there and still remains firm after all these years.

* * * * * * *

Chapter II

Not long after, we were recalled for a few days leave and we decided to spend it close to Patrick's home. He stayed with his family while I boarded with an elderly white couple in their rickety guesthouse nearby. It has become a well-known tourist lodge these days, but back then its creature comforts left much to be desired. I didn't care––it was cheap, and compared to a dusty tent in the bush it was sheer luxury!

Early in my stay, I was busy working on a report, ready to send it on the weekly mail truck the following day, when Patrick arrived unexpectedly. While I finished writing, he studied one of my textbooks and for a while we both worked quietly at the table under the light of a single hissing Tilley lamp. I had just finished and leant back with a sigh of relief, when Patrick looked up and asked me a question in his soft, smoky voice. I didn't quite understand the point he was making, so I got up and went to look over his shoulder. As I leant over him, I rested my hand lightly on his back and was surprised to feel him flinch like a startled antelope at my touch. Fearing that I might have offended some local custom or taboo, I started to apologise but he pressed his hand gently over mine to show that it was OK. It was a curious gesture–almost like a caress–and when he smiled up at me shyly I assumed that he was merely showing his appreciation for my help, so I smiled back in friendly encouragement and carried on with my explanation.

It was a hot, sultry evening and it seemed that all the local insect population was out in force, circling the lamp above us and occasionally hitting the shade with a metallic pinging sound. I was wearing only a towel wrapped around my waist like a sarong, so when I felt a light touch on my bare leg, I thought that a large bug had landed on me and I reached down to brush it off. To my amazement I saw that it was Patrick's hand, gently stroking the inside of my thigh! His strange manner suddenly became clear to me and I realised that he must have misread my smile for one of consent.

I turned back to the book and carried on with my explanation, pretending not to notice that his hand was creeping still further up my thigh. My lack of response must have given him the courage to continue, but in reality, I was trying hard to contain my excitement. Maybe it was the thrill of my journey to Africa and all the hard work that followed that had pushed all thoughts of sex to the back of my mind, but I realised that it had been several weeks since I had last masturbated. It hadn't bothered me until then, but the notion of sharing some mutual pleasure with my handsome black assistant suddenly became very tempting. My body began to tremble at the idea, so when Patrick's questing fingers reached my testicles, I gasped with pleasure and opened my legs to allow him to explore me further.

Patrick snatched his hand away and stared up at me, his eyes wide with alarm: My sudden movement must have been enough to startle him and his guilty expression told me that he was already regretting his boldness. I realised that unless I made a positive move, it would be some time before he got over his embarrassment and it might even affect our growing friendship --I knew that I had to think fast.

Not that there was much more to think about; my body had already made its decision and my penis was already sticking out like a ramrod, its tip pressing painfully against the rough material of my towel. Patrick stared at the bulge it made and I saw him lick his lips excitedly, while his hand strayed down unbidden between his legs. The edge of the table hid what he was doing, but it was clear from his expression that his desperate need was overcoming any remaining sense of shyness or shame he may have felt.

There was no point in torturing ourselves any longer: Neglected for so long, our two bodies ached for relief. Patrick had made all the running so far and I knew that it was up to me to take things further. I looked down and gave him a reassuring smile before slowly untying the towel from around my waist.

Patrick's expression was a strange mixture of relief and excitement as my towel dropped to the floor and I stood naked before him. He gazed hungrily at my erect penis and a look of blatant lust came into his brown eyes as he took hold of it and pressed it gently to his full pink lips.

For a moment we stared into each other's eyes, each wondering what the other was thinking, both anxiously searching for any clues from our expressions. I could tell that Patrick was feeling as nervous as I, but the sight of him feverishly tugging at his bulging crotch told me there could be no turning back for either of us now.

All the foolish social and cultural barriers that had marred our friendship seemed to vanish at once as we both surrendered to our mutual need. Patrick let out a long sigh and took hold of my cock in one hand while he fumbled urgently with the buttons of his shorts with the other. [This was well before the days of zipped flies]. My mouth was dry with excitement, but seeing his difficulty, I managed to croak that we might both be more comfortable elsewhere.

Chapter III

I led him into the bedroom and I laid down on the bed as I watched him undress. His bright floral shirt was soon unbuttoned to reveal his muscular black torso, but he seemed to take forever to undo the buttons and buckles of his uniform khaki shorts. When they eventually dropped to the floor it was to reveal a pair of bright red jockey pants, from which peeked the most magnificent cock I had ever seen. The elastic of the waistband had trapped it flat against his belly so that the broad, bell-shaped tip pointed upwards, covering the deep hollow of his navel, while the pouch beneath it bulged almost to overflowing. Most African men tend to be rather prudish about being seen stark naked, but I noticed that Patrick couldn't resist giving me a proud smile as he slipped the skimpy garment down his legs.

He certainly had a lot to be proud of: Released from its confinement, his cock stayed pointing stiffly upwards, thick and shiny black, except for a wide pinkish ring where he had been circumcised. To my surgically trained eye, it hadn't been done by an expert, for the operation had left a ragged frill of skin around the thick shaft. When I asked him about it, he told me that it was a puberty rite that the boys of his tribe had to endure as a rite of passage into manhood. He lowered his eyes and added shyly that as a result,

'certain things'

could make him very sore. I took the hint and looked around for a suitable lubricant, but the only thing close to hand was a bottle of mosquito repellent, which I guessed would sting mightily! But what was the alternative? I smiled to myself for I already knew the answer to that one.

One of my friends at boarding school had developed a taste for oral sex and was teased unmercifully when he was caught in the act with another boy. He tried it on me several times, but my fear of discovery tended to rob it of any real pleasure for me. That hadn't stopped me from fantasising about it though, and as I gazed at Patrick's superb penis, memories of those furtive boyhood sessions after school come flooding back to me––the opportunity was too good to miss! Quivering with anticipation, I slid down the bed and popped the shiny crown of his cock into my mouth like a ripe plum.

It was clearly the solution that Patrick had been expecting, for he heaved a contented sigh and arched his back, easing his massive cock deeper into my mouth until the tiny ruff of skin tickled my lips. I began to tremble with excitement, marred only by pangs of regret for all the opportunities I had missed long ago. Patrick must have sensed my inexperience, for he lifted my leg, indicating that I should kneel astride him, facing his feet. Without letting go of my prize, I straddled his chest and shuffled my body backwards until my cock dangled over his face. Moments later, I felt his wiry hair brush the insides of my thighs as he lifted his head to gently kiss my throbbing cock. His full lips made a soft cushion and I moaned with pleasure as they slowly parted, admitting me into the warm cavern of his mouth.

However hard he tried, my school friend had never been able to bring me to a finish with his mouth alone, so I was surprised when within a few minutes, I felt the muscles in my thighs begin to twitch, announcing the imminent arrival of my climax. Patrick must have felt it too, for he began to nod his head vigorously up and down my cock, keeping up a relentless suction that made it tingle and swell. I had enjoyed sex with several girl friends at college, but none of their willing vaginas had ever gripped me so tightly or milked me with such power as Patrick did at that moment. I could feel the sweat trickling down my back as I pumped my cock deeper into his mouth, hearing him gag as it touched the back of his throat. I went into a daze as all kinds of erotic images flashed through my mind––why had I never tried this before?

The time soon came when I could take no more and I groaned in ecstasy as my cock pulsed out its first thick load in months. It must have been quite a deluge, for I heard Patrick cough at the onslaught, splashing little tendrils of my juices back onto my belly. My body began to shudder uncontrollably until my trembling arms could no longer support my weight and I rolled off Patrick's body to lie by his side, panting and utterly spent.

Patrick let out a frustrated moan and made a grab for his cock as it slipped from my lips. He pressed it flat against his belly and began to strum rapidly on the rigid shaft with his splayed fingers, as if he was playing a strange kind of musical instrument. I was to learn later that this was a favourite method of masturbation of many African boys, especially those who had been brutally circumcised like Patrick, but it was new to me and I looked on in fascination as his swollen cockhead seemed to slap against his belly with every frantic stroke.

There's nothing more arousing than watching another male reaching the peak of his climax, but nothing I'd seen could compare with Patrick's uninhibited display. His legs thrashed about wildly and his hefty buttocks started to lift and bounce on the mattress, making the bedsprings creak and groan alarmingly. Suddenly his whole body convulsed and was still; he had reached that heart-stopping moment that all men experience when the world seems to stand still and the fruits of their manhood erupt in joyful release. For what seemed an age, Patrick remained on that breathtaking pinnacle, until finally he gave a high-pitched yelp and his whole body writhed in uncontrollable ecstasy. "

Huh...huh...huh

" he panted hoarsely as a thick rope of his sperm flew high in the air to land back on his heaving chest. More spurts followed, until his woolly chest hair was covered in strings of creamy–white droplets that sparkled like the strands of a pearl necklace in the lamplight.

Chapter IV

The silence of Africa seemed to descend around us as we slowly recovered from our first breathtaking adventure. I usually tend to lose interest once my physical needs have been satisfied––but this time was different: I wanted the evening to go on forever and I could tell from Patrick's answering smile that he was feeling the same way.

* * * * * * *

But neither of us felt ready for a repeat performance just yet, and Patrick had another diversion in mind; I felt a sudden warmth as he knelt over me and pressed his heavy genitals against mine. His eyes were tightly shut and I could hear him muttering seductively as he began to slowly gyrate his hips, riding me like a jockey on his mount. I could feel the two hard lumps of his testicles moving around inside their skinny pouch while the spongy mass of his penis gradually became a rigid bar once more, pressing heavily into my belly: and still his slow, rhythmic massage went on...

A soft tap on the bedroom door made me freeze in terror. I pushed Patrick off me and sat up––but it was too late! The young houseboy stood in the bedroom doorway, his mouth wide open in surprise, while the tray he was carrying wobbled precariously as he took in the scene before him. He had brought me a nightcap of beer and sandwiches every night of my stay, but in my excitement I had completely forgotten about his regular visit...until now.

Patrick sprang off the bed and yelled something to the astonished lad which I couldn't understand––but which the boy clearly did. He stared open-mouthed at the sight of Patrick standing naked before him and clasped the tray like a shield in front of him as if to ward off the torrent of angry words. Finally, Patrick calmed down and turned towards me.

"It is all right: This is my brother, Earnest. Do not worry about him–he will say nothing!"

He glared at the boy, as if daring him to deny it. Nevertheless, his brother's unexpected arrival must have startled him, for I noticed that his impressive erection had drooped until it looked like a large black jug handle attached to his belly. It made a comical sight and at any other time I would have laughed out loud, but I was still too shaken by Earnest's interruption to appreciate the humour of the situation.

Patrick dismissed his brother with curt wave and walked back to the bed as if nothing had happened. If he wasn't worried, then there was no reason for me to panic, I reasoned, so I slowly began to relax. The boy placed the tray on the nightstand and retreated towards the door, giving us a final wide-eyed stare. If the sight of the pair of us lying naked on the bed had surprised him, there was no hiding the effect it had on him, for there was a noticeable bulge in the front of his sarong that wasn't there when he first arrived.

The bed–springs squeaked as Patrick lay down beside me and I surrendered dreamily to the sensual delights of his body once more. I had almost forgotten about our unexpected visitor when a soft rustling sound made me open my eyes and glance nervously around the room. In the corner, half hidden in the shadows, stood the figure of Earnest, his legs spread wide apart while his hands moved urgently beneath the cloth of his sarong; His curiosity must have got the better of him for he had decided to risk his brother's wrath and join in our fun. When he noticed me staring at him, he snatched his hands away and made to leave, but when I beckoned him over, he gave me a nervous grin and hurried over to stand by my side.

He looked at me enquiringly and in response to my encouraging nod, he untied his sarong to stand naked by my side of the bed. He was about sixteen, I guessed, but his skinny frame and cheerful round face made him look much younger. His cock had a long way to grow to match his brother's super-size, but it was well formed and stood out proudly erect from a neat triangle of woolly curls. Unlike his older brother, he hadn't been ritually circumcised and his long foreskin hung over the crown of his cock like a monk's black hood, shrouding it completely.

Why couldn't they have left your brother intact like that?

I thought sadly as I imagined Patrick's cock in its full uncut glory. Eager to repeat my session with Patrick, I drew him closer and gently pulled back his puckered foreskin to reveal the silky-smooth crown beneath. He made a contented humming noise as I began to suck greedily on his stiff little penis and when I looked up I saw that he had thrown his head back so that I could only just see the whites of his eyes.

This isn't the first time this has happened to you, is it my lad?

I thought wonderingly

I became so engrossed in watching Earnest's rapturous display that I suddenly realised that I had been neglecting his older brother all this time––but I needn't have worried; Patrick had finally noticed his brother standing by the bed and shuffled his body round so that his prominent buttocks were facing towards him. His long black cock dangled down from his belly like an excited stallion and his balls swayed heavily from side to side as he continued to work steadily on me. Earnest eyed him calmly and with a confidence that could only have come from experience, he spat copiously into the palm of his hand before reaching between his brother's legs. Clearly he knew all about his brother's dry rubbing problem.