Indonesian Travels

Indonesian Travels The Organist by James MacMannis

• • • • Warning * * * *

If you are under the age of 18, or if it is illegal to read stories of a homosexual nature where you live, please do not read further. This is a fictional story, based on my life experiences and travels in Indonesia. I hope you enjoy the journey. Please provide feedback to james_macmannis@hotmail.com Copyright 2002 by James MacMannis.

This is the first story in what I hope will be a series recounting my adventures in Indonesia. This takes place almost twenty years ago and offers an introduction to my first encounter with that complex and interesting country.

I had just finished my senior year of high school and had graduated with good passes. My plan was to take a break for a year and then go on to university, where I wanted to do my science degree in technology. I was just 17 years old.

My father worked for a consulting outfit, I wasn't really interested enough to know exactly what he consulted in, but I am sure it was some kind of advanced engineering. It was not that we weren't close, or anything, because we had a really good relationship. It is just one of those things we never discussed, so I never really knew what my Dad did for a living. In any case, no sooner had I finished my schooling than Dad came home one day to announce his transfer to Jakarta, Indonesia.

We had lived up to this point in a small rural community about an hour from Brisbane. It was a quiet lifestyle with little of the rush and bother that goes with city living. The city was hand for schools, churches and shopping, but that was all it was useful for. The rest of the time we lived in our little backwater by a peaceful river. So to think of moving to a huge city in a foreign country was a bit mind-boggling.

Dad went to Jakarta ahead of Mum and me to get a house organised, so we were kept real busy getting things sorted out for the big move. We were keeping our house in Australia, because the transfer was likely to be just a year or two, so we did not have to take too much stuff with us. Saying goodbye to school friends, church friends and relatives took up most of our time.

Eventually it was time to get aboard the aircraft that would take us to a different world. None of us spoke Indonesian or had ever been to the country, so all we knew was based on news articles, documentaries and travel books. Flying in to the massive airport at Jakarta, we had come around a range of towering volcanos then swept over the city. It was just after dark, so all we could see was masses of little lights stretching far away to the east and west along the coast and up into the mountains to the south, with the brighter lights of the central city a little off to the left of us.

These lights reminded me that this was a mega city - one of the largest population centres of the world with over nine million people crammed into a few square kilometres.

Customs and immigration were no hassle, so it was only a matter of minutes before we met Dad, collected our luggage, and were off in a chauffeured Mercedes sedan to our new home. Dad had chosen a very large older house in the southern districts of Jakarta, and there we set up home. The property was quite extensive and had obviously been attractively gardened in its time, but was now a little seedy looking. The house itself was spacious and airy, with rooms everywhere. Mum and Dad chose one of the suites on the second floor for their bedroom, intending that an adjacent room would become Dad's office. I picked out a room at the back of the house with its own French doors opening onto a secluded patio. Around from the patio was a large swimming pool, although it was obviously years since it had been in use.

By Indonesian law we had to have a domestic staff (a kind of wealth distribution thing, I guess) and Dad gave me the job of finding the people we needed to take on. Mum protested that she had always kept the house and would have nothing to do if there were domestics around, but Dad explained the obligation and that we had to comply or we would be expelled from the country. So we had to take on four people, and that was that.

The obvious choices were to have a cook, a cleaner, a yardman and Dad's driver. The government department who Dad was contracted to offered to help in finding suitable people, but I suggested they give us a list of names and we would select from the applicants. It was not long before we found a nice lady to do our cooking, and her niece became our maid. Dad's driver was next to be found, and it turned out he had been trained by Mercedes to be a chauffeur for a regional governor.

The final person to get was the yardman. I thought to myself, that this person was most likely to be my closest contact with the Indonesian language and culture outside any formal training I might get, so it had to be someone I liked. Up to this point in my life I had not had any sexual inclination one way or the other. I wanked myself two or three times a day as a purely recreational enjoyment, but had never really fantasised about sex. It was not until we moved to Jakarta that I began to notice how good looking many of the young guys were around us. I wondered if I was gay.

The first weekend came along and Dad spent time at home with us sorting out the house on Saturday. Sunday morning we would go to church where we could worship. It had always been our practice to be involved in our local church in Brisbane, where Dad acted as deputy organist. We had a big Walker & Sons pipe organ in our home church and Dad was sure he would not find anything to compare with it in Indonesia. He did not even know if there were any pipe organs in Indonesia.

Not far from our home was a large old church and we had driven by on the Saturday afternoon to see what denomination it was. We found it was an Immanuel Gereja Protestan, meaning that it was not a lot different to our Methodist church back home. Also we saw that they had an English speaking service at 09:30 in the morning. SO, without looking further a field, we decided this would be our place of worship.

Sunday morning we go our driver to take us down to the church in time for the service. It was a typically hot, humid day in Jakarta, so formal dress usually did not include a tie or jacket. That was fine by me, as I had never been one for dressing up. There were not many people there, probably because we were a little early, just a few young guys standing near the entry, smoking and chatting among themselves. I noticed that a few of them were barefoot, although they were dressed in gleaming white shirts and dark slacks.

We walked in to the church and were immediately impressed by the coolness of the interior and the elegant, although not ostentatious, furnishings of the sanctuary. The building was rectangular in shape and had a highly vaulted roof. Long windows let in a pleasant brightness through softly coloured glass and clearly illuminated rich woodwork that comprised the pulpit and fixtures at the front of the church.

The church was practically empty, so selected seats and sat down to take in the surroundings and to spend a few moments of meditation and prayer. You can imagine the surprise when about ten minutes before the service began we heard the beautiful tones that only a pipe organ produces. The organist had chosen a Bach choral for his prelude. Dad, Mum and I exchanged glances and, as one, turned around to look up at the rear gallery of the church. There was a magnificent and ornate organ case standing on the gallery rail, with the long polished tin pedal pipes making up the frontal display. I was not an organist, but I know quite a lot about pipe organs from Dad's involvement with them. I could tell both that this was a good organ and that there was a good organist playing.

None of us wanted to be craning our necks around, so we did not look for long. Also, it seemed that the organ starting up was the cue for the congregation to come in and it was not long before the church was filled. The service got away on time and a familiar liturgy brought a sense of comfort in this strange land. The hymns were well played and lustily sung by the congregation and the sermon, which I still remember nearly 20 years later, was an interesting lesson on the parable of the Good Samaritan.

After the service we filed out after enjoying a few minutes of the organ postlude, and shook hand with the minister at the door. He welcomed us to Jakarta and asked if we would stay for morning tea so he could get to know a bit more about us. We were glad we did, because he told us a lot about the expatriate community in Jakarta and a little local knowledge about how things happen here. He was Indonesian, but his English was faultless, much to our relief.

In the course of the conversation he asked if there was anything he could help us arrange and I mentioned that we were looking to find a yardman for our house. "Strange you should say that," he said. "Our organist is currently looking for a job and he may be interested, especially because you live close by and he can get up here for practices and other services. Did you meet him at the church?"

"No," said Dad, "although I would have liked to have. He is very good, and that organ there is just magnificent. I have been an organist for many years, so I am very keen to have a look at that instrument when we get a bit settled in." The minister went on to explain that Yusef, the organist, was a deserted child and had been taken in from dire poverty by a Dutchman who had lived most of his life in and around Jakarta. "John van den Berg was the organist here for almost 30 years, and about 15 years ago he found little Yusef lying naked and sick on his front doorstep. He took the little boy under his care and raised him as his own son, teaching him also to play the organ. But John died, let me think, 18 months or two years ago, and because he had not made out a will, everything in the estate went to his relatives back in Holland. Yusef was left penniless and without a home. We found him a little room at the church where he lives and the church pays him a little stipend so he can buy his foodstuffs. He gets enough from wedding and funeral fees to pay for his clothing and cigarettes, but that is about all. So, he is looking for a job and maybe you would be interested in meeting him."

"James here is looking after that part of our arrangements, so how about I leave it to him'" Dad commented. "I would be glad to meet him. When do you think it could be arranged?" I asked. The minister explained that there were several more services at the church during the day, so today would probably not be a good time. However, he felt that tomorrow morning would be ok. He would tell Yusef that I was coming and I could meet him here at the minister's house, if I was happy with that arrangement. "Yusef does not speak a lot of English, so it may help if I am there to translate," offered the minister.

Next morning I went to the minister's house for the appointment, and was shown in to the study. There waiting to meet me was a young man who looked to be no older than I was. "James, good to see you again," said the minister. "This is Yusef." I shook hands with the young man and sat alongside him on a couch. He was slimly built; shorter than I, and dressed in a light grey tee shirt and cut-off shorts. He was barefoot, but I did not pay attention to that at the time because I had already learnt that it is disrespectful for Indonesians to have footwear inside a house. This was fine by me, as I had hardly ever worn shoes inside or out, and I was glad that I would not be expected to do so in this country. Yusef had been smoking before I came in, and he resumed his cigarette once I was seated.

Acting as translator, the minister relayed the discussion between Yusef and I. After explaining the job I had in mind for him, I asked Yusef if he had any questions for me. He asked if it would be ok for him to continue his organist duties, which sometimes meant going off during the day to play for special services. I said it would be fine, just so long as I knew when he needed to go away. I asked if he wanted to think about moving to our place to live and he said he would have a look first before he decided. I was beginning to hope he might move there because those strange feelings were stirring in my mind that made me want to see a whole lot more of him than would be possible elsewhere. Finally we got down to payment, and I was shocked when he asked for such a pittance for a wage. I suggested that we would start at a figure a little higher than his expectation and see how things worked out. The minister commented that he thought that was very fair, and shortly after I left with Yusef.

It was perhaps a kilometre to our house from where the minister lived and I had walked there. I asked Yusef if he minded walking, or would he prefer we get transport of some kind. He was quite happy to walk with me, and that was when I noticed for the first time he had no shoes or sandals. I had worn my sandals to the interview because I was still unsure of the safety of the roadways in Jakarta, but now I decided to walk home barefoot with Yusef, carrying my sandals instead of wearing them. It was much more comfortable that way.

Yusef was very impressed with our house when he saw it. He fully understood that I wanted him to gradually bring the yard back to a good state of appearance and I told him I would be working with him so that it would not be too daunting for him as well as giving me something to do. We decided to get into the work straight away, and we began by clearing away a lot of dead growth and fallen tree branches from the front of the house. It was very hot and dusty work, so we soon built up a healthy sweat.

Around midday the cook called to say lunch was ready, so I took Yusef around to my private entrance and into my room where we could clean up. Lunch was a cool salad with fresh bread rolls followed by a cool drink. Yusef asked if he could smoke, but I told him only outside because my parents didn't like the smell of smoke in the house. We went out onto the patio and cleared a spot where we could sit and Yusef pulled out his cigarettes. "I don't smoke," I said when he offered me one, "but you go ahead." I had noticed the pleasant sweet smell of his cigarettes and realised he was smoking the Indonesian clove and tobacco mixture known as kretek. Almost every Indonesian smokes, or so it seems, from the very youngest to the oldest. Back home I had never even tried a smoke, even though a lot of my friends did, yet sitting here next to Yusef and watching him enjoy his cigarette, I felt that I might like to try that one day.

We finished our drinks and Yusef stubbed out his cigarette butt underfoot as we returned to our work. The front garden was like a dead jungle and it took a lot of work to get things cleared. I hadn't realised just how long we had been at the job until I noticed it was getting dark. "Yusef," I said. "Time for us to call it a day." He didn't understand my colloquial phrasing, but after a few tries I made him understand that we were stopping work for now. "Would you like to stay here or do you want to go to your own room?" I asked. "Where can I stay here?" inquired Yusef. I suggested he could share my room with me for the time being, and then later on we would be able to fix up a room of his own. "Happy am I if I stay with you Mister James," he said in his halting English. I asked him if he wanted to go back to his room to get anything to bring here and he said he would like to. I went with him and we picked up the very few things he owned, including his white Sunday shirt and a few music books, then we came back home.

"Would you like to shower now?" I asked Yusef. I showed him the bathroom, but he turned back to me with embarrassment to say he did not know how to use the shower. At my suggestion, we decided to shower together. He and I stripped off our sweaty shirts and I suddenly wondered if he would be offended if I took my shorts off in front of him. I don't wear underpants most of the time, so if I took my shorts off I would be naked. He actually saved the situation by taking his own shorts off and revealing that he didn't wear underwear either. I was amazed to see my first Indonesian man completely naked. He was beautiful. His slim body was a golden brown all over, with darker tones around his nipples. His dick was the same darker colour and hung freely below his black pubic hairs. Like me, he was not cut, but his foreskin was long and completely covered the head of his dick. Immediately I felt my dick stir, despite the fact that this had never happened to me before. I turned away from Yusef to adjust the water and to hide my stiffening dick. What on earth was happening to me, I thought.

Yusef came under the flow of warm water and asked me if he could scrub my back. He soaped my neck and shoulders and then gently massaged my tired muscles. With his fingertips, he worked his way right down my back, letting the warm water rinse of the suds as he went. His long fingered hands pulled at my arm to turn me around and I was horrified of what he would think when he saw my now raging hard on. I turned and faced him, expecting his immediate revulsion, but instead he just soaped up his hands and continued washing and rubbing the front of my shoulders and chest. I nearly passed out with the sensation of his gentle hands caressing my nipples. Never had I expected such an intense feeling of pleasure, and my dick that had been at full attention, now sprang to a steel-like stiffness. His lovely hands worked down around my belly and once or twice he brushed across the top of my dick. I looked down at his groin and saw that he was also stiff, and made the assumption that it must be ok for us to be doing this if we both were erect.

Soaping up again, Yusef took my now aching dick in his hands, massaging the full length of my shaft without peeling back the foreskin. Sometimes he would gently pull from my base all the way to the tip, other times he would just masturbate slowly. I reached down to his dick and did the same with him. He came in closer to me and it was not long before we were rubbing against each other as we wanked, the thrills of the movement sending strong shivers down my spine. Already the juices were reaching boiling point and I knew it would be a matter of moments before I squirted out my pent up semen into his hand. He must have felt the intenseness of my pulse; because his own dick suddenly increased in size and stiffness, then together we shot out our first shared load. My foreskin was partly back because it never covers the head when I am erect, so my load shot out and onto his stomach before being rinsed off by the running water. Again and again I unloaded, bucking into his hand, more than I could ever remember coming at one time. Yusef was humping into my hand in time with his shots, but because his foreskin still covered his head, it was not shooting out on me. I eased his foreskin back a little, and the next shots landed on me just like mine were still doing on him.

We leant against each other in a need for mutual support after such a massive unloading. As we did so, Yusef turned his face up to mine and gave me the most beautiful kiss. The sensation of it bolted right down to my toes, and on the way, my dick decided to squirt out a final load. We sat down on the floor of the generously proportioned shower stall and continued with our ablution. I reached out for his feet and the soap, and scrubbed the dirt from them, feeling the supple toughness of his soles and the prehensile grip of his straight toes. He washed my feet also, and then we each stood and completed our showers by washing our private regions individually.

Drying off and dressing passed without incident, and all this time not a word had been spoken between us. It was cool evening now and we went out to sit on the patio so Yusef could smoke. While there, Dad's car pulled in and both Dad and Mum came out. Dad had been showing Mum where he was going to be doing some of his work. I called them over and introduced them to Yusef, explaining quickly that he was the new yardman. Dad was more interested in meeting the wonderful organist, but the conversation was very stilted due to the lack of common language.

"James," my Dad said, "I want you to use your time up here to learn the language and culture of these people. This is the fourth most populous country in the world, and although they are still very much a developing nation, I believe that Indonesia will one day be a major player in the world markets. So whatever you end up specialising in, I am convinced that knowing about this place and how to speak to the people in their own language will be beneficial. Besides, I want to talk to Yusef, here, about that organ of his."

I blushed a little, because suddenly I realised that I knew something about his special organ, but it was not the one Dad meant. Fortunately the darkness covered my blush and I recovered quickly. Yusef discarded his cigarette and we all went in for dinner.

Needless to say, Yusef never did move into another room in the house. We did get the grounds back into remarkable condition, restored the swimming pool and seemed to spend a lot of time showering. I learnt basic Indonesian quickly and taught basic English to Yusef. Dad got to see the marvellous old pipe organ in the church loft and even played for a few services. I learnt quite a bit about the organ that year because the church authorities had decided to have it renovated. I was 180 years old, having been originally built in Holland and bought to Java on a sailing ship. The historical trust of Indonesia had raised the funds to have the organ fully refurbished to original condition. Yusef had to put up with an organ that sometimes played certain notes, and other times hardly anything at all, but the end result was certainly worth the wait.

I learnt how to play Yusef's organ with great skill during that year I was in Jakarta. I don't mean the pipe organ. With his gentleness, he taught me the wonder of the male body and what it meant to share it with someone you love. I learnt to smoke kretek cigarettes that year and still smoke them to this day.

I had to leave all too suddenly to enroll at the University of Queensland where I was to commence my degree. I knew I would be back to see Yusef and Mum and Dad, but the pain of departure was very deep. Yusef and I cried ourselves to sleep on our last night together. Mum let Yusef stay in my room when I left.

Four years later I had my Honours degree of Science in advanced technology. Mum and Dad were still based in Jakarta and I went to stay with them for a few months. Yusef met me at the airport and we could hardly wait for dinner to be finished before we could resume our fugue in dick minor and major!

More to follow. Comments please to james_macmannis@hotmail.com