Once African Boys

Once African Boys - An African Adventure

by Graham Day

Story Code/s: B/b b/b b/g

Comments/suggestions to: g_day@hotmail.com

NOTES & WARNINGS:

• This story may contain descriptions of sexual acts between boys, boys and girls and/or men and boys. If this is not to your tastes, please leave now. If you are under 18, or if it is illegal in your state or country to read or possess material like this then it is in your own interest's to leave now.

• The story is copyrighted by the author. A single copy has been placed in the Nifty archives for your enjoyment. Please do not distribute it to any news groups and/or other web-sites without permission of the author. You may, however, send it to your friend s as long as payment is neither requested or received.

• This story is fiction. Any resemblance to any individual, real or fictional, living or dead is purely coincidental

• If you have any feedback you can e-mail your constructive comments to me at g_day@hotmail.com

******************* Once African Boys - An African Adventure by Graham Day *******************

Part 2

Sections 11 to 20 *******************

11

Campbell started to read the journals of Dr. David Livingstone, Victorian explorer and philanthropist, before they had left D.F. Malan airport on the scheduled flight to Uppington, there they changed to an eight-seater for the flight to Francistown. Cronje had explained that his own airstrip was not yet ready, and the trip overland might be fun. Campbell read sections aloud to Nathan Kramer and his younger brother, Benji, whom he had met at a junior school sports day. He read the following to them on the plane:

"The effect of travel on a man whose heart is in the right place is that the mind is made more self-reliant; it becomes more confident of its own resources - there is greater presence of mind. The body is soon well-knit; the muscles of the limbs grow hard as a board the countenance is bronzed and there is no dyspepsia."

He was delighted by these fine words and the noble selfless motives in this son of Scotland, which Campbell regarded as his home, after all the time there with Nana.

The Mediterranean climate of Cape Town had not prepared the boys for the rigours of the climate north of Uppington where the heat lay like a lead weight on parched soils. Mile after mile of desolation passed beneath them. Sloth, Campbell concluded, could be the only natural reaction to this intense heat. The heat had brought him to the very edge of stupidity.

The first meeting with Cronje was brisk and friendly. Campbell hated himself when he felt an involuntary reaction in his loins on first seeing the virile twenty-year-old. Always good-looking, Cronje was now a young God, his golden-blond hair hung on his shoulders. He was dressed in a khaki bush-jacket, shorts and high laced boots; a sheathed Knife and Ruger 0,375 revolver hung from a leather belt.

Campbell sat behind him in the close confines of the twin-cab long-wheel-base Land-Rover and extended helpful advice on how to avoid killing anyone before the day was done. Cronje chatted away easily. Out of town, the tarred road stopped abruptly and gave way to a wide track of deep, soft, white sand. Cronje reached over and rested a hand on the naked leg of the young black boy next to him and said: "Pass me the shower, Baba."

Baba indeed! Campbell snorted in contempt. The boy fished out a can of Denim men's deodorant and Cronje applied the anti-perspirant to his armpits. Campbell thought: Denim: the deodorant for the man who doesn't have to try too hard! How typical of Cronje to choose something like that.

"Would any of you gentlemen like to take a shower? It's the closest you will get to a shower until we hit the camp." He offered the aerosol to his guests. Campbell ignored it contemptuously, but Kramer's young brother grabbed it gratefully.

"Oh yeah! I stink like a Rhino's asshole." In truth they all stank with a unique blend of sweaty, unwashed boy and that stale-fart smell that comes with long distance travel. This gave rise to a game of spraying-thy-neighbour. Benji sprayed first his right hairless armpit, then his brother's crotch, his left armpit and Campbell's chest - where the white shirt exposed the skin, bronzed from hours at the cricket practice nets, in the fine Cape weather. Kramer tussled the can from Benji's hands and shoved it into the leg of his young brothers' shorts, giving his ass and balls a blast. His eyes twinkling mischievously, he gave a tentative exploratory spurt on Temba's neck.

The black boy immediately entered the sprit of thing and launched himself full length over the top on the front passenger seat and let Kramer have a pinch on the nose.

"Are you saying I stink, Whitey? Well, I think you stink! You stink of money. Old dirty money." So saying, he gave the older boy an expert tickling on both sides.

" I bloody don't" said Kramer when hysterical laughter would allow. He got the boy in a neck-lock while Benji started tickling the exposed teak-brown waist. This horse play broke the ice very effectively.

"So Kramer what kind of name is that? Is it Afrikaans?" Themba asked in his African accented English.

"A Jewish name."

"Never herd of it."

"Well it's real old. We were there in the first Jewish stock-take. See the book of Numbers."

Rhadebe, at school, had not prepared them for this strange refugee. This oddest of couples held the group of white friends enthralled. Young Benjamin seemed not to get the nuances of the looks and touches, but Campbell and Kramer, looking at each other over the younger boys thatch of red hair, KNEW.

Nights come swiftly in Africa and they stopped at about six for their first nights rest.

"Where is the Motel?" Asked Campbell he needed a good cold bath.

Themba chuckled and said: "I think it is the big marula tree after the next bend. It is an African Hotel." Affaleekan was how he pronounced it

"You mean we put up a tent?" Asked Benji, licking his cracked boy's lips.

"We sleep under the stars." Cronje informed them, as the evening sank around them.

"Whatever."

"Where is the bog?" Campbell asked, suddenly aware of a need to relieve the pressure on his bowels.

Cronje explained how they would have to take the spade for walk. This complex operation involved digging a hole with a foldable spade, in which to take a shit. This caused Benji great mirth.

They made a camp fire a few hundred yards from the road side. Benji did his impersonation of a jet fighter, swooping over the African plateau. It was very flat, very quiet and very hot as the first white, then red molten-metal-sun, sank below the cloudless horizon. They watched this spectacle in silence, eating the caned beans and sausages that Cronje had reheated for them.

Themba showed them the copies of Hamlet and Cymbeline that Cronje had bought him from a table of second-hand books at market in Francistown.

"We came here to get away from Shakespeare."

"Cronje is helping me learn all the things I missed at school." Campbell believed there was a painful price Cronje exacted for this humanitarian concern.

Then, came the Stars. That first night was moonless. For the fist time, away from the city, in the unpolluted air of the Kalahari, the boys truly experienced the beauty of an African night. The sky was oppressively laden with million of stars. The Milky Way was as one sees in photos from outer space - a smear of stars and mystery.

They turned in - curling up in their sleeping bags huddled around the Land-Rover that creaked and groaned as the metal contracted in the cool night air.

"I will teach you an African song." Themba instructed them in the words of "Nkosi Sikelel' I-Afrika" a beautiful Methodist hymn, that they knew they could be imprisoned for singing back in the Cape. This was adventure - this was what they had come for.

12 Themba

The Royal Hotel was an prepossessing U-shaped building wit rooms facing onto a dusty court yard in which someone had once attempted a garden. Cronje had been staying there during his negotiations with the government departments concerning his plans for his land in the north of the country. This is where he took me on that first night and I was still very wary of this large powerful white man with his strange desires for my male parts. But he had offered me roof over my head and a bed to sleep in and it seemed like fair exchange if he just wanted to masturbate me form time to time but I feared he wanted more.

My fears were further confirmed when, on entering the room, I saw there was a signal double bed. He striped to his underwear and lay on the bed in the heat of a building backed for the entire day in the African Sun. A fan whirred over head and I took up position in a small uncomfortable arm chair.

"I will be sleeping here...." I said my courage failing a bit as I thought of giving up a night on a bed after many night of sleeping on the clod hard ground in a door way.

"Suit yourself." He said and with in minutes he was snoring loudly.

Somewhere in the middle of the night I crept onto the bed next to the sleeping white man still fully clothed and feel into a deep dreamless sleep.

I woke with that strange sensation that I was being watched. I opened my eyes and found Cronje, his head propped on one hand lying on his side and staring at me. At first he did not see me watching him. He was staring at my naked legs and the gap of skin that showed between my shirt and dirty pants. He was staring at me with fascination as if the texture of my hairless black skin was some precious metal that he had just seen for the very first time.

"Sanibona Nkosi." I greeted him with that automatic courtesy that came with my breading.

He smiled at me in greeting and slowly touched my naked waist with the tip of one finger. He did not stroke it he just very gently seemed to feel the texture of black skin and I suddenly realise that I was perhaps the first black he and ever been really close to in a physical way; perhaps anyway.

"You touch me?"

"Your skin is very beautiful" he said softly as if speaking to a child.

I had awoken with my penis hard from urgently needing to pass my urine. It now for some strange reason gave a lurch in my pants and he noticed it.

"Your cock is hard?" he asked with a smile.

" Do you want to let it make milk again?"

"It is a very fine cock." he said in reply and placed his hand on my upper thigh and caress the exposed skin with slow appreciative strokes.

"I must piss first..." I said and moved to the bathroom reluctantly. It alarmed me how my body had reacted in this enthusiastic way to his desire for me. I new may penis need the relief his hands had given me the night before.

"I am not a woman" I tried to reassert my normal sexuality, as I returned to the bed.

"You would not be here next to me if you were one..." he added.

"I fuck with the girl who tell me that the whiteman go to that place looking for girls and boys."

"Oh that was nice. Your cock must have made her very happy." His flattery was making my penis react in strange ways - I felt some precum leaking out of its tip and staining my pants with a dark wet patch.

"How old was she, baba?" She was 13 like me with big tits for her age. Like a mama." I cupped my hand to show him the size of her breast. He was no fool getting me to speak about the girls was getting me aroused. I opened my legs wider to allow his stoking hand to get more easily into the leg of my tattered short pants. "She let me rub her pussy under her skirt in the restaurant and that make me very hard like this." I grabbed his hand and pressed his hand on my crotch letting feel the hardness beneath.

"Are you going to let me suck this nice cock baba?" He asked while his hands fumbled with the string that help my pants in place. I answered by lifting my thighs from the bed my mind racing with the memory of the dark wetness between the girls legs and the frantic desire to shoot my sperm once more and if this white man wanted to suck it then I was not going to stop him.

"She's some hair around the lips of her pussy." He was able to free my hard circumcised penis from the shorts. My penis was pointing towards his face he was stoking my large smooth balls with his fingers and breathing heavily.

"Tell how you fucked the girl's cunt." He asked me as he lowered his head towards my hard throbbing cock. I started to tell him about my sexual antics with the girl describing in detail her breast he large dark nipples and the sweetness of her mouth and how she and asked me to go out to the back yard where she had leaned against the rusty iron fence and lifted he skirt and shown me her naked and nearly hairless cunt. He opened his mouth and pulled my thighs toward him so that the head of his prick slipped between his pink whiteman's lips and into the heat of his mouth.

I was not prepared for the pleasure it gave me and a gasped then let out a deep moan relaxing and giving myself over to the pleasure his mouth was giving me.

I continues my story. I was telling him how I had licked her pussy and smelled between its lips and how I had, with all the rush and insistence of youth, I had driven my cock hard into her and fucked her roughly while her fingernails dug into my back. I was shoving my cock in and out of his mouth as if I was fucking the girls again and I closed my eyes an remembered the passion there in the dusty yard behind the café Tropicana.

" I shot all my juices there into her wet slimy pussy." As I got closer to cumming, my voice trembled. "Oh I fucked her so good. I fucked her so good. I fucked her so good. I fucked her so good. I fucked her so good." I keep repeating like a chant to drive me over the edge an to fill this white man's mouth with my warm sperm as if it was the girls pussy. My legs tensed and I filled his mouth with shot after shot of his hot black boy cum.

We lay silently for a long time his lips still wrapped around my hard cock. The fan whirred away sadly above the bed. Then using his lips he milked my cock of its final drops which he lovingly swallowed and then just lay there looking at me.

"Sometimes," he said, his eyes moist "you look all over for something beautiful and then you find out that it has been next to you all the time."

13 Themba

Tradition, custom and culture are really very local, almost a family, matter. When I speak of my people I do not speak for the entire Zulu nation, let alone the firmament of all black peoples in southern Africa. No, I mean exclusively what happened within my valley outside Umzimkulu.

One of my earliest memories was of my eldest brother, Vusi, coming home, hand-in-hand with his brother, Michael, from the neighbouring village. They seemed so very full-grown to me - they were in their late teens. At some point in a man's development, it becomes necessary for him to breach the ties of family and explore the outside world. This he did with a companion, his brother, who may or may not be a blood relation, but with whom the camaraderie would run deep for a lifetime. Michael would play a 'walking song' on his steel-stringed guitar, short repetitive refrains, meant to ease the passage of the miles - there weren't the number of taxis in our valley in those days. There was something heroic in these young men setting out hands loose-cupped in each other's, setting out to see the streets of Egoli, which white men called Johannesburg. Together, they would explore horizons beyond our valley - get drunk; find out about women; earn a little money; lose a lot to card-sharps keen-eyed for gullible country boys.

When I was a little older the nuns made me understand that there was another way of looking at men holding hands: "Let go of his hand Themba. St Paul tells us that it is improper for men to hold hands. It makes the baby-Jesus weep." You knew the worst thing you could do in the world, was to cause the baby Jesus to weep.

After walking with his brother for a few years, Vuzi choose a wife. Unknown to herself, her family, or even before Vuzi came to speak with my father about it, Michael was asked for his blessing on the possible union - for who knew Vusi better than his brother. Later it was it was Michael who negotiated the marriage settlement or labola - money had, by then, replaced cattle as the currency. When I met and fell in love with Ute in London, it was my brother Cronje that I longed to discuss the matter with - he would have known if she was right for me - who knew me better?

Then there was sex. It is not our custom to speak of sex. Today the code of silence that surrounds sex is still complete. Sex is something done freely between consenting partners is secret. That was the sum total of the taboo surrounding the subject. The prescription of homosexual contact between the young; the prescription against sex between age groups; denial that the child is a sexually active being - all is foolishness that came with the impinging western values and norms. Sexuality was a natural and normal part of growing up. A herd boy, who went for a week into the veld with his brother, expected to be shown how his penis worked. Sexual acts, were brothers slept four to a bed, was a discrete fact of life in the years you grew to adulthood - a rite of passage as ancient a birth and death.

All this was not without its price: the rate of teenage pregnancy is alarmingly high and AIDS ravages my valley today, as the fight against it is subverted by silence. I am forced to ask how that price equates with the psychological cost of the alternative.

I would wish my children to be brought up in the type of culture that I met. We have built, instead, a milieu in which guilt has replaced love, as the currency of sexual transactions.

That is how I think of these things now a mature adult but it was very different back then when as a foolish boy just in his teens I took up with Cronje and spent that first night with him. It was to be the first of many nights.

Within a week Cronje's business was at and end in Gabarone and I was faced with a decision. He invited me to come with him to the farm and work with him.

It is true to say that by that time we were friends and the love making had moved from something I tolerated to something I enjoyed and sometimes even initiated.

I decided to go with him

14

The difference between the first-world and the third-world is one of expectations. When you leave your home in Paris, London or Chicago, you expect the expect to reach your intended destination. In the third world, it is simply not so - you expect not to reach it - you expect troubles and difficulties along the way; you anticipate problems when the truck breaks-down; the donkey falls in a ditch; or you meet and old friend and spend the rest of the week visiting his family. From Francistown the 400 mile-long sandy road made its solitary way, skirting the upper reaches of the Makarikari to Maun - gateway to the swamp, formed by the Okavango River delta. As they travelled through the barren scrub land of the Kalahari, they saw masked weavers - fine little yellow beauties with black bandit-masks. Here, in waterless Kalahari, they lived in gregarious flocks that converted sycamore-fig trees into apartment complexes, with their hanging nests. iHlokohloko Themba called them. Like the birds, the people seemed to have the time of day for each other in this vast, barren, underpopulated country. They would stop and greet you - where were you coming from? Where were you going to?

The business with the diary started on their second day. Benjamin Kramer had been keeping a diary since he had joined his brother at Dean's. Benji guarded his diary like a pit-bull terrier. Nathan pestered him, time and again, to let him see what secrets he kept in that book. Cronje was making coffee for breakfast, when Kramer snatched it and he and Themba threw it to each other over Benji head, as he chased them over the, seemingly endless, wasteland, trying to retrieve the diary. Eventually tired-out by Benji's pursuit they handed it back and returned to the camp. Benji gave it into the reliable hands of Campbell, while he took the spade for a walk.

His confidence in Campbell proved singularly misplaced. As soon as he had walked off, toilet roll and spade in hand, Campbell and Kramer, giggling like naughty school-girls, raced around the Land-Rover and read the boy's confidences. Written, mostly in pencil, in an untidy childish hand, most of the entries were about school and sports. Marks and results were catalogued in painful detail. Then Kramer noted a footnote at the end of a page it read: Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck! My fuck is to fuck girls!

Kramer and Campbell were beside themselves - doubled-up laughing. Paging through the diary they saw that there were several of these entries. It was like a chorus through out the book: "Fuckity-fuck! My fuck is to fuck girls, when will one of them let me?"

A few days later there was an entry about a girl in their Sea-Point apartment: "Fuckity-fuck! Myra, our neighbours young girl, was eight when she let me see her panties for the first time and now she is always after me to rub it and make it feel better."

Paging through it, Campbell and Kramer gradually found it spectacularly boring. Kramer went to get coffee. A little embarrassed by their prying into something so dull, they agreed to keep the diary-reading a secret. Then, about a week before they left for this trip, Campbell found this entry: "Fuckity-fuck! The last time we did it, Nathan said to me that Campbell had a real nice one. Small but real neat. Fuck, I wish I could see it."

He was practically winded by the words, which emblazoned themselves on his mind. "The last time we did it, Nathan said to me that Campbell had a real nice one." There were three aspects to this pleasant news. Firstly, the fact that they did it! Secondly, the fact that Nathan found his rather attractive and finally, that young Benji wished he could see it.

Benjamin Kramer had just due to be celebrating his barmitzvah soon. From then on he was a man - and could read Torah in the Synagogue. But he was still this impishly cute, skinny, youngster. His voice had this scratchy quality that made it sound as if he was just about to arrive in adolescence. This young red-headed kid with a big button of nose - in a few years he would be teased for having a big schnozzle - but right now it looked highly edible.

Campbell's mood took an abrupt turn for the better. He was even pleasant to Cronje and went as far as please and thank you when they were called for breakfast. Soon, they were on their way again. The condition of the roads made progress slow.

15 Benji

Judging by their behaviour, they are on at least their third large whiskey, when an old steward announced me as Dr Benjamin Kramer. I am now in his early twenties and I have a striking Californian accent. I see from their surprised looks that they hardly recognise me - have grown a rotund waist, fat in his face, a bushy red beard and a liberal red nose.

"Themba you old hound-dog it's good to see you, man." He hugs me and shakes my hand enthusiastically. I can see my red hair and multiple chins wobble happily in the reflection of the mirrors in the elegant English room. His skin now shows the crowsfeet of premature ageing that seems to come more quickly to us red-heads.

Then I turn to Campbell and I think for a moment I see a look of tenderness passes over the famous man's face, then it swiftly disappears. I wonder if he at least still sees me as the beautiful young boy I once was.

"And Campbell, as I live and breath. I got in this morning from L.A. and I thought to myself, I hope the boys all remembers to met here as planned. It's a long way to come without being sure you'd even have a welcome here. Well, I can tell, you it was a relief when the old family retainer-type at the desk said, yeah, Mr Campbell was having his reception and then this fella led me here." Apart from my accent my American-blue tuxedo, raised a few eyebrows from the leather-buttoned members.

I produce a folder with family photographs and passes these around. Naomi a plump-happy dark haired woman and two identical baby boys smile up at them. Campbell hands me the large screwdriver that Jimmy has fixed for him.

"The boys are Galahad Nathan and Nathan Galahad. I can tell you the Rabbi had something to say about that." I beam with pride. This is Themba's queue to produce Ute and his own son Galahad from his breast pocket.

"And you, Campbell, where is your family?" I ask and realise at once I have made a serious mistake.

This young Jimmy fella saves the situation by producing hors de oeuvres.

16

Put four adolescent boys, and a man who refuses to grow-up, together, with little to do for hours and you have an altercation. In this case it was about reading matter. Themba was warring with Shakespeare: "What is a bodkin and why is Hamlet's bare?"

Benji was reading the Coral Island to the apparent disgust of Cronje.

"Page through it and find me the bit where Peterkin takes a piss in the bushes."

"Are you sure you read the same book? There isn't anything like that in here. I know it backwards." Said the teenager.

"Precisely my point. Those boys aren't human. They don't shit. Not one of them wakes up with an early morning boner and what sort of message does a healthy boy get when he reads that tripe? 'Oh, I'm abnormal! I go to the lav. My heroes don't ever need to do that.' In my opinion youth literature has a lot to answer for. I mean take Lord of the Flies. Are you going to tell me you have all those kids - full of healthy dewy boyhood and you don't get a good jerk-circle going? Then there's Piggy. Why did they kill him? What did they do to him first? Then Treasure Island - I mean, there's a perfect example of public deceit if ever I read one. What was up between master Hawkins and Long John Silver? And why did they call him Long John Silver? Well, you tell me that. No, you show me a Biggles book or a Famous Five and I'll show you a Victorian plot to make youth conform to outdated norms."

The boys were taken a back. Then Nathan Kramer saw the intended humour and started laughing.

Campbell did not laugh. He said: "My God you are the most perverted person ever met." But then he thought: "The last time we did it, Nathan said to me that Campbell had a real nice one, small but real neat. Fuck, I wish I could see it." Unexpectedly, he found his humour restored. They all laughed, in fact they started another dive-across-the-top-of-the-seat session with Themba.

Cronje stopped the Land-Rover at a sign that indicated a turn off. "We are turning off here and going onto the Salt Pans."

The Great Makarikari salt pans were astonishing. Suddenly they were riding on this huge, entirely flat, plate of ceramic whiteness. They could have driven endlessly and aimlessly towards a shimmering mirage of a horizon, where the whiteness met the steel blue sky. Cronje produced a compass that kept them going in the direction he believed they would find water. Late in the afternoon, they found the water's edge were they stopped and made camped.

Campbell thought: "Nathan said to me that Campbell had a real nice one." He suddenly realised he was unbearably horny. Other than self-administered hand-relief, he had been as chaste as driven snow since the last time with Cronje. He thought: "The last time we did it, Nathan said to me..." Perhaps there was a way to get to do it with Nathan and perhaps that was through Benji. He had noticed the way the young boy looked at him that wide-eyed esteem that boys bestow on heroes. In Benji's eyes, he was what Cronje had been to him: aspiring to legendary status at school. He had changed physically during the years at Dean's. He was a little taller, but he would never go over five feet six; his body was in superb shape physically and the Cape summer has lightened the colour if his hair and bronzed his pale English skin. His cock, not that Benji had seen it, was a good six-and-a-half inches now and might gain a few inches in time, while it's mushroom-head when inflated, was pretty impressive. Yes, he thought, maybe Benji could tell him more about his love.

17 Benji

I graduated with honours and a doctorate in psychology from Harvard at and early age. But it did not require years of training and practical experience to see that something was radically wrong in our little group in Africa. Even as a child of 12, in awe of the tall handsome Afrikaner and the equally good looking cricketing Apollo who was my brother friend and confidant, I could see trouble brewing.

The strangest thing about the entire trip was trying to come to understand Campbell. He would watch offended at any sexual remark. He would rudely stop Cronje from completing a slightly off colour joke and glare disapprovingly if any two of us wet off together to urinate. He treated me and my brother as if we were some sort of sexual innocents or saints. I knew better.

It had all started with my Bobba's, 60th birthday party at our home in Cape Town. As my mother's mother held court inside, and the few older teenagers made it clear the company of a ten-year-old was not required I went out onto the landing to play with my model motor cars out of the way of hugging aunts and troublesome uncles.

That was when she came out onto the landing to play with he ball. I knew her by sight only and I had heard from our nanny that the daughter of the new family next door was called Sarah.

She Bounced the ball against the wall getting more and dangerously close to me and were I was playing a territorial war brewed for a while.

"Why don't you go play somewhere else?" I said "I was here first." Was there anything worse than an eight year old girl, I wondered.

"I live her too!" she said putting her balled fists in he waist and glaring at me like an angry adult.

That was when I noticed that her skirt was very short. With her hands at her waist it sort of hitched up her skirt further and showed her creamy naked thighs. I waited anxiously to see what she would do next.

He returned to the game throwing the ball high to get it to hit the wall above my head. Each time she stretched up wards I got a glimpse of her panties showing pink and white under her flower-covered miniskirt.

That was when I felt my ten-year-old dick started getting hard. She seamed to notice my attention and started making exaggerated movements to throw the ball far from my head and rewarding me with move an more glimpses of white and pink panties. It was one of those hot impossible February days when no breath of wind broke the summer hear and he exertions had caused I fine mist of sweat to appear on her upper lip. She brushed this away from time to time and swept her long blond hair out of her face, with a ball free hand. When ever she came to rest for a minute.

I was hot and uncomfortable in my best navy-blue long-trousers and a white shirt and tie put on in the honour of my grandmothers birthday. My legs were hot and sweaty and I had to grasp the front of my crotch to adjust where my boy dick was caught in the folds of my trousers. Sarah giggled and blushed when she saw this, but I could see her looking at me a little too honestly.

I wanted more than anything to see what she had in the pink panties a scary, exciting mystery of bald little pussy.

A bounces of the ball latter she stopped and sighed in a mock exhaustion and stretched he arms above her head checking with one eye that his eyes were on the spot.

"Its so hot my even my pussy itches." She said in a matter-of-fact way. I did not fail to notice that when my hand to give my excited penis a reassuring squeeze that her hand went to her little pussy. I groaned in answer too horny to trust my tongue to form words.

Somehow I knew the moment of truth had arrived came when she simpered in a sweetly lisping voice: "My name is Sarah."

"I am." Benji I croaked

"I know," she said "your nanny told me." Then her hand started to rub the little mound in her panties and she sighed. "My pussy is so hot I need to scratch it will you take a look to see if it is OK."

I nodded my head wildly incapable of speech in my state of excitement. She brought he lips close to my ear and whispered "Let us go to the stairwell no one ever comes by the stairs." She said showing wisdom of sexual secrecy that left me breathless.

I surrendered my trembling hand to her small hand and she led me like a small child through the glass door and onto the cool darkness of the stairwell.

It was with in seconds that she had her skirts tucked under her arms and I was confronted with her small naked legs and pink underwear.

Without taking my eyes off the mound of girl's pussy, I reached up and began stroking her chest were some time breasts would appear. Sarah gasped slightly as she felt my hand touch her titties under the cotton T-shirt, her hand moved more rapidly over the offending source of the itch.

There could be no mistaken that sex was in the air. Sarah jumped a little as her fingers hit some sensitive secret spot in her panties. Her hands grasped the elastic and she wiped them down in one swift movement and there I was confronted buy my first naked cunt.

"Oh, oh," she moaned, "it is so hot and itchy. I just like to rub it like this. Do you want to look?" Her hands caressed her pussy and she traced the outline of the out lips.

I moved my head close to Sarah's pussy, and darted my index finger out and traced outline of the outer mound. The ivory skin was soft and warm and I set about masturbating my penis through the cloth of my best-occasion trousers.

"If you pull the lips open you can look al the way inside. Do you want to do that, please?" My hand struggled between leaving my throbbing boy dick alone for a minute and the opportunity to satisfy my curiosity. Sarah gasped, and I felt her legs buckle a little. She did not try to stop me when I parted her lips and started into it pink depths.

At this point all caution was thrown to the wind as I tore open my fly and released my lust crazed three inch penis which I masturbated wildly. Sarah let out a breathless exclamation as she looked at it the she pushed he pelvis closer to my face where I knelt before her. Moving my mouth to her mound, I kissed it tenderly and gently she responded by opening her legs wide and with her fingers opening it up. Some how my tongue was out and next thing it was licking the length of the outer slit. Then my tongue ran over her little mound and slit before letting it wander between those little pink lips. It was my first taste of pussy, and I knew I wanted more of it. I got between her legs and began to earnestly tongue and lick her child's cunt. Separating the lips as much as I could, I began to thrust my tongue deep inside of the little hole. Then my tongue found a small bulging red fleshy bit of her pussy and as I lathered it with spit she went wild.

"Oh my little clit." Sarah moaned.

Aunt Maxine on my fathers side had always had a fear of lifts. I small detail we had over looked in the deep thrust of our childish lust. We did not her Uncle Monty and Aunt Maxine until they were immediately behind us.

"Oy vey." Sighed Uncle Monty.

"And the little bitch isn't even Jewish." Aunt Maxine exclaimed.

"And him from a good Kosher home too." said uncle Monty with a slight trace of jealousy

18

Just before night-fall a silver-backed jackal circled their camp. Benji became anxious and asked them if it would attack at night. Cronje said the scavenger was more afraid of them, than they of him. The sleeping arrangements were the same as ever, the boys ranged around the camp fire.

"Tell you what, Benji, why don't you come sleep next to me under the Rover." Campbell selflessly volunteered.

"Wow, can I?" He grabbed his sleeping bag and scrambled to settle down next to the school cricket star.

It must have been around midnight that Campbell made his move. The rest of the group were all sound asleep - he listened to the sounds of the African night. All he would do tonight was get a feel. Perhaps the boy would get a fright if he just woke him and offered to show him the cock he had expressed a desire to see. Benji lay sleeping on his side facing Campbell, coming closer to him, he could smell the boy's sweet breath. He unzipped the boy's sleeping bag and felt around, eventually locating the boy's jeans. There was a pleasant bulge in the jeans where he had hope to find it. In his sleep the boy rolled onto his back making Campbell's task easier. He paused to get he own cock out of his jeans where it was painfully trapped in a fold. One hand stared to wank himself. Yes, this was it, he found the boy's zip oddly hot to the touch. Zipping it down, he found the reason why - the boy had thrown a good boner and conduction had transmitted the heat to the metal zip. Very carefully he slipped the boner out of the gap in the white y-fronts he saw shimmering in the moonlight. What a little brute - about three to four inches long with a bulbous head. He fingered the stitch marks round the circumcision and groaned. His own cock took control. In no time at all he was coming, spattering his wad on the sleeping bag lining.

It might have been a hour or more that he slept. When he woke, he was surprised to find his arm out of his sleeping bag - very cold in the night air. He wondered why he had done this then he felt something move in the palm of his hand. It was unmistakable. Benji was fucking his hand in his sleep - rubbing his young tool and getting a pleasant young boy thrill. Campbell fastened his gripe on the cock and fingered it a little more, squeezing and the jigging penis. The boy's bum humped with more determination. This was great progress for a first try. Then the dancing prick in his fingers and palm came to some devilish point and the young lad fell heavily on the hand and trapped it. Campbell struggled to withdraw it and eventually succeeded. With his hand still warm for the boy's cock he wanked himself and came in seconds.

They woke in the morning to find huge flocks of pink flamingos had joined them overnight. Themba called them the "uNonbwend". These strange garrulous birds fretted and strutted as they fed - then prancing and preening themselves, all the while making goose-like honk-honk sounds. The boys stood, amazed at the sight. The magic of the moment was interrupted by a sleepy Benji struggling out of his sleeping bag. It was Nathan that first saw his zip open and his diminutive cock and balls protruding.

"What were you up to last night?" The brother roared with cruel sibling-laughter. Benji looked confused at first, then smiled to himself and went to update his diary. He then made a great play of getting Campbell to "look after it" when he went for his early morning ablutions.

Æneas Campbell was read the following: "Fuckity-fuck! I had this real wild dream last night I dreamed I was fucking my hand only it wasn't my hand. Maybe The Hand will come back again to night. Shit, I hope so may be there is a cock or something nice on the other end of the hand."

Definite progress.

19

They spent the rest of this day on the banks of the salt pan driving only a short distant to watch game: Herds of comic stripped Zebra and erratic Wildebeest moving over the whiteness. That lazy day was the forerunner to many. Campbell sat watching Nathan Kramer, long fingers working through his Robert's Birds of Southern Africa, noting the sightings in a journal. With his binoculars he observed the variety of bird life at the pan: Yellow-billed Egrets or iNgekle in Zulu; a solitary Grey Heron; the huge Saddle-billed Stork, with its comic red saddle over the yellow, black and red bill, inhabiting open swamp lands; the Maraboe Stork or Qandlopfuin - in large carrion eating herds, the migratory storks; the highly gregarious the odd looking Knob-billed Duck; a Crowned Crane, with its spiky straw-coloured crest above his grey body.

Campbell watched the boy wipe the black hair from his eyes and his shoulders, browning in the sun, when he removed the sweat soaked shirt. Jealousy in his heart, he saw Themba sitting with him providing him Zulu names for the birds he knew from Natal.

At night just after supper, they heard their first lion roar.

Cronje reassured them it was a great distance "If it was nearby we would feel the ground vibrate."

The boys went to bed late and sleep fitfully, Benji snuggled up close and whispered: "I had a cool dream last night, I hope I have another tonight." the boy hugged Campbell's sleeping-bag-clad body.

"If you think you will get cold tonight, we might as well zip our two sleeping bags up together."

"Aw, awesome!"

"Quietly Benji, we don't want the others to wake up." Benji scrambled out of his bag and the rearrangement was soon made. Campbell thought he heard Cronje clear his throat. Benji removed his jeans.

"I'm really quiet warm now."

"Yea so am I."

Benji parted his legs and squeezed his own ridged young prick through his jeans. He exhaled deeply. Campbell said: "Tickle, tickle, tickle," his hand started past the warm boyish belly; then moved down very slowly, skirting the harpoon-penis; past his soft immature balls to the perineum; testing the prick again for interest, his finger came to rest on his perfect anus and stopped there. Benji was now nervous and he clenched the cheeks of his bum, to stop the intruding finger from reaming his virgin hole. The muscular spasm was nice though. A bit more confident that he was not about to be hurt, he rolled slightly on his side, presenting Æneas Campbell with easier access to his bum. The small boy submitted readily. He relaxed - the finger stayed there - the finger scratched and tickled gently at the sensitive skin between asshole and balls - that was great.

"Cool! Oh cool, man." He cooed softly like a dove. Campbell bit the pillow - God, the other guys mustn't hear them. Benji relaxed, then tightened his gluteal muscles, again trapping the finger. The older boy seemed to want to only work at his bum - his prick was throbbing by now - God, why wouldn't The Hand grab his cock like last night? His bottom rose and fell and then he had a shuddering cum through his own stimulation and fell back physically exhausted.

20 Benji

There were several consequences to being discovered eating the girl next door and not all of them were unpleasant. Nathan suddenly developed a very keen interest in my sexuality.

The night after being caught I was lying in me bed in the room we shared crying quietly to myself when he called my name.

"Hey, Benji, what was it like?" He asked, his voice trembling in undisguised excitement. "Say, why don't u come and creep in with we and we can jerk of while u tell me about it."

And so, instead of crying myself asleep alone and in shame I crept into bed with my beloved sexy older brother and lay there masturbating his thick thirteen year old cock while he jerk my small boy cock to climax after climax as I relived and retold the story over and over again.

One of the consequences of my exploits with Sarah was to be banished to The Dean's Primary School and a week boarder. We met only at weekends but used the time well to explore each others changing bodies and to relate in minute detail the sexual experiences and observations we has made during the week. As we were both at all boys schools there stories that gave us the subject to jerk off to were usually about boys. I told him about how young Richard had taken to using one of the cubicles in the bogs as his office where he would suck all willing boys off. Nathan would tell me about Galahad Cronje and his regular assaults on Campbell's arse-hole.

As time passed and the affair with Cronje broke up, he would turn to detailed descriptions of Campbell's physical beauty and I must confess that before I even arrived in Botswana on our African adventure I was already hopelessly in love with Campbell in the way that all boys go through a phase of hero worshipping and older boy of man.

Nathan lay naked on his bed clothes one night before we left on the trip. His lean hard body remained smooth and hairless throughout puberty except for small black bushes in his armpits and above his cock. The pubic hairs above his cock were only about an inch long and were like short wire springs. He was stroking it thoughtfully. I lay in the crook of his left arm, my head resting on his shoulder and my legs gripping his left thigh to my hard 12-year-old penis. I was humping his leg gently the way I always did during these conversations.

"Tell me about Campbell's cock again." I begged him. I remember the dark peachfuzz on his upper lip and the smell of bubble-gum on his breath. Still now, after all these years, the smell of chewing gum and sight of a young teen's peachfuzz still give this happily married man a raging hard on.

His own penis was now a substantial seven inches, not bad for a 15-year-old, he would tell me. His penis head looked man-sized, a sculpted helmet-shape shining in the dark. It was also surprisingly thick. His sex organs were made to seemed larger compared to the slight, dark, hard body. The colour of the penis itself was honey brown with the circumsicion scar a darker circle an inch below the flaring cockhelmet, which was a deep red when he was aroused as now There were several small blue veins along the solid length of his penis shaft and one fat one that bulged on the top. His penis shaft joined a wrinkled scrotum that was hugging his egg shaped testicles close to his body. My mouth started to water as I thought about taking that beautiful penis in my mouth.

"It is small about five and a half inches when its hard in the mornings but it is very nearly perfect. Its like its made from flawless marble sculpted to perfection."

Talking about Campbell's sex organs was a guaranteed way of getting him aroused it was certainly working today his legs were bucking as he masturbated his penis his long, slender body next me in all its beauty. I looked down and saw his magnificent penis still throbbing madly between his legs, looking so hard and straight now it looked like it might break off. Still stroking rubbing on Nathan's leg, I realised that if I slipped further down I could hum his calf muscles and suck his penis at the same time.

"His cock hair is as blond as the hair on his head and makes it look sometimes as if he is as hairless as you are, little bro." He continued his monologue.

"Would you suck him if he let you?" I asked him

"Oh yeah!" He reacted as if this would be the best thing that could ever happen in his life and this back arched in excitement lifting me, still gripped to his thigh, off the bed with it him.

I was so hard and so intensely excited myself that I followed my plan and slipped down his leg rubbed his firm calf muscle against my three-and-a-half inch boyhood and eyes locked on the perfection of his penis head, I felt my face slowly descend toward it and felt my lips wrapping around it. Nathan's penis head practically filled my mouth with hard warmth. I couldn't fit more than an inch or two the thick, seven inches inside. What I could fit in, I work at with all the talents my mouth had learned over the preceding years of sex with my brother. My lips wrapped tightly around the throbbing shaft, while my tongue slipped around his pink swollen glans, continuously working the sensitive little slit from which I hoped, his sperm would soon spurt out. After a couple more sucks, I let his cock slip out and I licked it and kissed it playfully. Nathan whimpered like a child in pain and his slender hips trust closer to the origin of his delight.

His green eyes gazed down at his fat erection, the head now glistening with saliva from my young mouth.. It was very pleasant, the rich man boy smell between the my brothers legs made me expect his ejaculation any second

"It feels good, so good." Nathan assured me breathlessly.

"Imagine us both sucking on Campbell's cock and he is sucking yours off!" I said providing fuel to our fantasy.

"Hmmmm! Yeah! He sucks so nice." Eager to get back to Nathan's penis, I didn't bother pointing out that it was I that was doing all the sucking. No sooner was his furry cock near my face than I plunged my lips down on it, sucking the hard erection as far into my mouth as I could until I felt it pressing against my throat.

I scarcely worried about my own penis, which was still rubbing the smoothness of his naked leg. I was just as determined to deep-throat my brother if I could with out gagging. I tried to open my throat to admit the large teen cock. I hadn't done this ever before and, though Nathan was only fifteen, his seven inch penis was quite a challenge. Eventually I felt the Nathan's swollen penis head slip deeper into my oesophagus. I almost gagged, but managed to control myself as I finally felt his penis slipping deeper into me.

I was still fighting a desire to gag, but once started, is was hard to stop, then I felt the ticklish caress of his dark pubic hair on my nose and his man-sized balls on my chin, just as a took it all in. Filled with his penis, my tongue could not work on beautiful cock the way I knew he liked to do.

Then Nathan's naked body started to jerk frantically, and his grunted loudly his voice still cracking between low and high pitch, like a boy in early puberty. Then he ejaculated! Much as I wanted to taste it I knew he was having the huge orgasm because of the extreme pleasure my new technique had given him.

I felt the thick warm sperm rushing straight down my throat and I released his cock and swallowed hard. At that very moment my penis which had been rubbing his calf muscle spasmed and I felt the thrilling pleasure of my dry orgasm hit me

When all our passion had subsided, we lay on the bed, our naked chests heaving. Not even I could keep holding to Nathan's penis and let it go to lay my panting head down on his soft thigh. Both Nathan and I started to get soft, Nathan's shining in the soggy remains of my saliva.

"Do you think that drinking Campbell's sperm will improve my cricket?" I asked half seriously, half in jest. Nathan snorted in derision and my childish innocence.

"Well I will have the chance to try it next week." I said boyishly determined.

He laughed out loud at my chutzpah.

(continued in sections 21 to 30)