Rick and Donna Antermann had discussed their looming dream vacation, a two-week photo safari in Equatorial Africa, with great excitement. The trip, long in the planning, was something both had worked hard to make possible. Rick, now 34, was ten years into his ideal career as an electrical engineer with a major aerospace firm. Donna, three years his junior, had joined a large cosmetics company after graduating college, and was now a well-paid marketing executive. Both were politically liberal, and devoted to animal rights and conservation causes. Both were drawn to Africa, for its history, geography, and, most of all, its wildlife. Now, at last, the time had come and they were heading for the Atlanta airport to board a flight for Paris, then on to the Congo.
Rick, a product of devout and hardworking middle-class parents, was 5-7 and a soft 140 pounds, with a rather prominent butt. Rick's pale skin, deep blue eyes, and shoulder-length, curly, blonde hair, caused many to label him a "hippie". Donna, from a similar background and middle-class environment, matched Rick's height, but was 15 pounds lighter. Neither was physically beautiful, but Donna, was "well maintained", a regular exerciser and, of course, very knowledgeable about the use of cosmetics. She had perfect skin, and was quite attractive, even without makeup. The couple were frequent attendees of services at a small, conservative Christian church, but were not public in their expression of their beliefs.
The young pair had no children, nor did they plan any, but they enjoyed an active, if not creative sex life and were deeply in love. If one were to paint a picture of the perfect American couple, it might look very much like Rick and Donna. Both were passionate about their hobbies; Donna with her art, realistic pencil drawings and watercolors of flora and fauna, and Rick, digital photography of all forms of wildlife. Africa was very rich in subject matter, and the couple entered the van taking them to Hatfield with great enthusiasm and anticipation. The journey was beginning.
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On the first day actually spent in the bush, Rick and his guide, Eric, and support group were following the example of the animals and taking a break. The early morning photo expedition had been successful, and the group was in a celebratory mood. Rick, sweating profusely, sat down on a fallen tree near the small stream where the group had stopped for their mid-day break. Lunch, prepared for at the direction of safari leader and guide, Eric, would be simple. The assistant chef and general gofer, Watsumi, was a small, round, lighter skinned black in his late teens. Watsumi was subservient to, and badly treated by his two fellow tribesmen, Haranga and Marshu. Both were older, in their twenties, muscular, tall and lean, and with coal black pigmentation. They did the heavy work, loading and unloading the gear from the Land Rover, and carrying Rick's camera gear and equipment when the men found it necessary to pursue photo targets on foot. All three Africans were local to the area of the expedition, the andtheir tribal village was within an hour walk of the safari campsite.
Watsumi quickly brought Rick and Eric their lunch of fresh bread, baked the previous night in the base camp, a selection of native fruits, excellent English cheeses, and a bottle of African red wine. He then retreated to the stream, where, after a quick meal, he joined his fellow tribesmen for a relaxing swim and, as Eric informed him, a traditional noontime nap.
Eric engaged the enthusiastic Rick in a brief dialogue about what they could expect to see in the bush that afternoon and evening. As he explained, most animals were inactive for varying periods of time during the peak heat of the day, and expended most of their energy in the early morning and early evening periods. While listening, Rick noticed that the three Africans had stripped for the water and headed for a small pool a few yards downstream. "Why don't you go for a dip with the crew, Rick," Eric asked. "Good opportunity to get that sweat and grime off you." Rick nodded, but didn't answer.
As Haranga and Marshu walked past the two seated white men, Eric poked Rick and asked him if he had noticed the size of the cocks of the two older natives. Rick coughed, and after a short delay, said it was hard not to. "Are all the men of that tribe equipped like those two," he asked. Eric replied that they were probably average, based upon what he had seen. "About 11-12 inches, very thick, and, of course, uncircumcised," Eric noted. "Except for Watsumi and a few others like him who are about half size...or a bit less."
Rick watched as the three men entered the water, and sank down into the cooling liquid. The water in the spring-fed stream was probably in the 70s, a good 30 degrees cooler than the mid-day African air. After a short time, Rick's attention was again drawn to the pool as Marshu pulled Watsumi from the water, slapped him hard in the face, and pushed the smaller man forcefully toward the thick bush lining the opposite bank.
"What was that about?" Rick asked, as the two disappeared in the thicket. A couple more resounding slaps were heard from the bush, then quiet. Eric said..."well...the older boys are VERY horny, and they like a little relief during their breaks. Watsumi serves the purpose when no females are around, but he's not always happy about it. The men of their tribe are capable of having sex several times a day if the opportunity presents itself. And they're not very picky about where they find it."
"So, is Watsumi gay," Rick asked. "Is homosexuality present in the same percentages of Native Africans as in American men?" "Not exactly," Eric replied. "In the case of Watsumi and some of the other 'camp boys', the larger, older, more dominant young men simply decide to put the softer, more submissive boys to use as needed. Judging by the relatively small amount of force it took to get Watsumi into the bush, I'd guess he's about broken in to his role."
