Africans

The usual disclaimers apply: no under age, no peeking if you live in a country under a repressive government- you know who you are- safe sex is the only way to go- sorry if the characters here don't follow it, but it is memory not the world today. All rights reserved, enjoy for your private use, blah blah. But true. Comments? any_mouse2003@yahoo.com

Africans

I think about William sometimes, he sneaks up on me from someplace in the dimness of my memory.

The last time he came to me was on a train. I was in Kenya, traveling from Mombasa to Nairobi on the Night Train that runs from the green coast up through the grass plains to the central highlands. I met a man from Kampala on the train at dinner. He wasn't William, but I have accustomed myself to imaging that he is. The times were perilous for him at home, and he had come to Kenya to seek his fortune.

I was deeply attracted to his dark eyes and full round face. His shoulders were strong under a freshly laundered white formal shirt that contrasted with the ebony of his skin. and the way he spoke the Queen's English, mellow round vowels, teeth as white as Chiclets.

He was mesmerizing, and later, when the dining car shut down and we returned to my sleeping compartment. he could afford only a seat, and we were both happy to have a little privacy.

He was very comfortable in his skin, and he made me comfortable in mine, black on white.

The moon was bright, and at one point we could see the white snow-capped summit of Kilimanjaro out the window, and his dark skin and rich tongue drove me quite to distraction.

The way he was built, though, was the most extraordinary thing. His cock was nearly as long in its resting state as it was when it was hard against me. It just grew thick, perhaps as wide around as three fingers, and he filled me thoroughly and completely.

He had extraordinary stamina, taking me on my back and front, with only short rests between, and he let me worship that extraordinary appendage with my thin lip. The smell of him was so profound that I will never forget it. Musky and rich with his sweat.

My life did not melt into him. We parted at the station in the early morning, and he took with him most of my loose bank-notes. I posted a note on the message tree at the New Stanley Hotel, but I never saw him again. I often wonder what happened to him, and if he survived the troubles.

How I came to travel extensively in Africa is part of a longer story, and the genisis of it begins with William. I'll get to that part, presently, but I'll give you some background and see what you think.

I did not have it easy as a kid, but I don't imagine anyone does. It was hard growing up in the shadow of my father. He was a tough guy, a former pro football player.

Good enough to be a pro, not good enough to be famous beyond the bars in Chicago where men cared about offensive linemen.

He hade some pretty good money playing, but careers are short. He met my mother when he was flush with cash, and he was fit and he had knees that were not crippled by arthritis.

To the day he died, he had that bull neck and Mike Ditka-style crew cut. Old school, that was my Dad, and that was why I think he always had a problem with me.

I take after Mom. It must have humiliated him, and the line of husky Scandinavian farmers that were in his line.

If they are in mine, I don't know where they are hiding. Mom was a beauty from the near South Side of the city. Her family was middle-class, but barely, and I think part of her insecurity came from that.

They both were that way, insecure. Dad had lived above his means when he was playing, and when it stopped and he had to get a real job I think he was never comfortable that the cheering had stopped.

He tried to toughen me up when I was little. He would throw the ball with me, all kinds of balls. Footballs and baseballs, but it just didn't work. I was a scrawny little thing, built with Mom's willowy frame.

I preferred to read a book, since I could be anywhere in a book, and not have to feel like I was forced to be something I wasn't.

Dad was a good man, even if prone to fits of depression, and I loved Mom as much as any boy could. Dad worked long hours, and being shy by nature, I spent a lot of time with her. She taught me how to cook, and we would talk all the time while rolling out dough, or chopping vegetables. She told me what it was like growing up close to the mean streets, if not on them, and how the kids survived in the Big City.

She also took me into her memories about what it was like to be a girl changing to a woman, and what it was like to look at things in a completely different way than my Dad did.

I had begun to notice that I was different in grade school, but that was OK. I couldn't quite figure it out, and Mom told me it was just because I was a little late blooming. My class was small, and we had all been together since kindergarten. It was at Middle School that things got weird, what with six elementary schools being thrown all together. And there was suddenly the "right thing" to wear, and whatever it was, I didn't have it.

I had corduroy slacks with cuffs, and brown tie shoes, and a gray sweater that buttoned down the front over my paid shirts. That is what started it, the older boys teasing me, and it hurt. My friends from elementary school seemed to fade away from me. They seemed unwilling to be associated with a slight boy who was clearly not cool.

I sat in the bathroom at home one day in seventh grade and tried to take stock. I was dreading the next day. It was the first Gym class, and I was going to have to change into the goofy blue shorts and t-shirts the school mandated for the boys.

The afternoon before the first PE class, I sat in the bathroom at home, looking in the mirror. Brown mousey hair, bangs in front. The eyes were good, I thought, deep brown and large on my thin face. A delicate face, with pale skin. The eyes were definitely my mother's, I thought, the lashes thick on top and bottom. Very expressive eyes, if you care for that sort of thing.

My teeth were regular and white, another good feature, but my neck was thin, and so were my shoulders.

My drama teacher told me later that my neck was "swan like, and graceful" and that my thin torso and supple hips were those of a dancer. But I hadn't heard those words yet, and I was apprehensive. I was too small and scrawny, I thought. The only thing that wasn't undersized was my dick.

I had only started to wonder about that part of me when the first hairs began to sprout above it. It was slender, but long. I was circumcised, I knew that and had asked why. My Mother said it was for cleanliness, and all the boy babies were cut that way.

I did not know what it meant, though I could see the scar on the shaft just below the elegant German helmet that surmounted the pale skin.

Mom had ensured that I had read a little pamphlet that explained where babies came from, and about the changes that were coming. She was seemed a little embarrassed, and I was, too, since the kids at school had painted the picture pretty well, in thoroughly lurid details.

It seemed kind of exciting, but I also could not imagine doing "it" with any of the girls I knew. It seemed easier to look at things the way my Mom had described it. My Dad ignored the whole thing, much the way he ignored me a lot of the time. I figured I was a disappointment to him, and just tried to do well in school.

From the first week or two of class it seemed like it was going to be a lot of work, but that didn't bother me.

I played the clarinet, by the way. I liked the way the reed felt in my mouth, after I moistened it, and the way I had to wrap my fingers around the thick black instrument to tap the silver keys on its massive shaft.

Don't laugh. I really did like it, and I liked the sound of it.

I was second chair in the orchestra, based on the first audition with Mr. Gray, the music teacher. A lot of kids still played instruments then because their parents made them in elementary school, and they hadn't figured out that they could quit yet.

There was a guy in the music class who looked at me. His name was Rob, and every time I looked around it seemed he was looking at me, checking me out. I don't know why, but it gave me goose bumps.

He had hair combed down over his forehead with a flip at the end, and merry blue eyes, when he wasn't looking at me. He was one of the football players and seemed popular. I kept getting the feeling that he wanted to talk to me. I felt strange. Not in a bad way, just strange.

There was no avoiding the first PE class. I had it third period, ten in the morning. I took a bag with me to school with the mandatory items in it. Sneakers, jockstrap, blue shorts, white t-shirt and combination lock. I walked down to the steps to the boys locker room and down the steps. Coach Stroud was just inside the door, handing out towels and slips of paper with locker assignments on it.

"Come on, Come on, guys. Let's go! Get to your lockers, change and in the gym! chop, chop!"

I could smell old sweat and chlorine from the pool and the faint odor of aftershave. Dozens of guys where scrambling to find their lockers and get heir cloths off.

I wondered that my Dad had spent most of his life in this environment, every day, and hurried to the second aisle, hoping to find locker 238 there. It was, and I breathed a sigh of relief. There were arms poking everywhere as shirts came off.

I opened the locker and hung the lock on the eyelet. I took off my sweater, folded it neatly, and placed it on the shelf. Then came my plaid shirt, which I hung on a hook and then I skinned off my white t-shirt and folded it and put it on top of the sweater.

It was easy. I got the rest of my clothes off and stepped into the jock-strap without a problem. I kept my eyes on my locker as I adjusted by cock and balls in the close-fitting elastic, marveling at how is felt, holding me close and tight. I was able to keep my eyes straight ahead as I pulled on the shorts and pulled on the white t-shirt.

Then it was just the white athletic socks and sneakers. I had to sit on the bench to tie them up, and allowed myself my first glance down the row.

I guess some of the other guys had the same sort of nerves that I did, and some were still figuring out what to do with the jock-strap. Eddy, the class-clown and bully de jour was wearing his over his head. At the end of the row was the only black kid in my grade. His name was William, and he was actually not black, but a real African.

I don't know why that made a difference, but it did. He father was a representative in the state oil business, on assignment in the City for a year. William did not understand racism the way we did, and he held himself with dignity. He also was standing, holding his shorts, and I caught a glimpse of his cock, hanging with an authority all its own down his leg.

I thought mine was long, but his seemed to have a life of its own, as he leaned forward to step into the shorts. It swayed all on its own, thick and black as night. I realized he was uncircumcised, since the skin went all the way to the end, and concealed the prominent helmet that adorned the end of mine.

Perhaps it was the novelty of it that made me stare, but I felt a push in the middle of my back.

"Yeah, it's true," said Eddie in a horse whisper. "Niggers have huge cocks. Do you like it?"

I turned to face him. He had taken the jock off his head and he was looking at me with a scowl.

"Don't use the word, Eddie."

"Or what, you little queer? You gonna make me stop?"

Coach was shouting "Get moving, Ladies!" and bodies were starting to move down the aisles between the locker rows. I started to move away.

"Let me know, when you want to, Little Joe."

I was flustered beyond belief, but thankfully everyone was a little unsettled by the newness of the whole locker room experience. In the gym, Coach made us line up and do a series of calisthenics, side straddle hops and arm reaches and push-ups. Last was sit-ups, and we had to get partners to hold our legs flat to the floor.

That was a horrifying prospect. Rob, the boy from band was in the row behind me. I wanted to ask him to partner because of the way he had looked at me, but he was too far away. Coach made it easy by saying the boy to the right would hold first, then reverse positions.

We were even-numbered, and that worked out, except for one thing. The boy to my right was William.

I was on the left, and was supposed to go first. Coach told us to get down on our backs, "Assume the position!" were his precise words. William took up position at my feet, and gripped my ankles hard with his dark hands. His eyes were impossibly white against his dark skin, and he smiled at me.

I was dumbstruck, even as Coach told us to begin. It was only twenty sit-ups, but they were hard with my arms behind my head. William smiled encouragement, and soon enough it was down. He released me and got down on the floor, stretching out. I got up on my hands and knees and scooted to his feet.

I grasped his ankles as he had mind, and I felt the strength of his legs as he began to bob up and down. He was powerful enough almost to raise me off the ground with his motion, and I had to lean forward to maintain my grip. That brought my face forward, over his knees, and I could see the mound of his thick cock under his shorts, imprisoned in the tight sack of his jock.

I thought of what it had looked like when it was free, and the thought made me a little giddy. I realized I was still hanging on after he had stopped moving.

"It is OK, Joe. We are done," he said in his round vowels.

I might have blushed, I don't know.

I think we played basketball, though I was not able to concentrate in several rotating teams. I was able to hang back, and soon enough the hour was over. Or at least it was almost over. The next unknown was the shower.

Coach blew his whistle. "OK, Ladies, that was truly horrible. We are going to work on Basketball the rest of this marking period, and if I see some decent progress, some of you might get tapped for the Junior Varsity. But not with the effort I saw today. Now get out of here and shower off. You get the one towel, and put it in the hamper by the door when you leave. You have ten minutes until next period. Move!"

We shuffled to the locker room door and I got caught with Eddie at the door. "Remember what I said, you little dipshit," he said, sotto vocce. "I'll see you after school."

That was all I needed. I stripped down quickly at the locker, fumbling at the combination. Then, clutching my towel in front of me, I walked to the shower room that was foggy with hot water and crowed with pink boys. I kept my gaze down, and realized the towel was going to get soaked. I hung it on a ring near the door with dozens of others, hoping one of them would be there after I rinsed off.

I was able to get a sidelong look at several of the cocks. Some were little buttons, retracted up against the owner's stomachs. Some were proud and long, like mine, though not many were as long. There were hairy boys and boys who had only begun to sprout hair at the base of their shafts.

I closed my eyes under the thin spray of water, and lathered up a thin film of soap from the little bar that was on the ledge near the faucet. I was hoping to get a glimpse of William again, but I was not lucky, and I was afraid I would attract Eddie's attention again.

I left the shower as soon as I got the soap washed off. There was a towel available, though not the one I had carried in. I used to cover myself and managed to scurry back to my locker. There I toweled off quickly, glancing to see if William had returned to the end of the row.

He had, and he stood nude, completely comfortable in his dark skin, his long penis swinging freely as he bent to pull his clothes out of the locker. His stomach had ripples, and his ass was different than the white kids who surrounded him. His cheeks were more rounded and high up. With that magnificent cock in front, his large sack and prominent balls resting below the tight black curls at the base, he was a perfect vision.

I realized I had looked too long when he caught my eye, and I turned back to my locker and dressed as fast as I could.

I had to pick up my books at my hall locker, and hit the door just as the bell rang to change classes.

"After school, Joey-boy!" shouted Eddy as I moved quickly down the hall. I hated that kid.

The rest of the day passed in a haze. I was apprehensive about Eddie and getting home in one piece, and on the other hand, seeing all those boys naked had me quite distracted. I ran the whole scene through my mind at lunch, and in Algebra and English and History.

As the time got closer to the end of last period I began to panic. What was I going to do if Eddie confronted me? He was going to call me names, that was no big deal, but I knew he just wanted an excuse to kick my butt. Make himself look big by beating little me.

After the last bell, I picked up my clarinet case from my locker resignedly and walked slowly to the front door. Sure enough, Eddie and a couple of his buddies were hanging around, down by the edge of school property where the buses turn out on the main road.

I could have walked the other way, but sighed and thought I would confront the matter. It wasn't going to get any better avoiding it. I wondered what my Dad would do. Break them all in two, I imagined, and hoped that this would not get back to him.

I slowly approached Eddie's little band.

"Hey, there, queer boy. I have been waiting for you to teach me a lesson about the Nigger you have the hots for."

"That is uncalled for Eddie. You should not use the word, that's all. I don't care what you call me. You can't hurt me with names."

"True. Why don't you put down the faggy music case and I'll show you what." His buddies smirked.

"I don't think so, Eddie. If you want to fight, you are going to have to do it yourself."

I am not clear on what happened next. Eddie started toward me and the next thing I knew I was on my back on the ground, and my cheek hurt. I was looking up. Eddie actually looked concerned, and his friends were walking away up the block away from the school. I was starting to get up when I heard William's rich voice.

"What issue do you have with Joe, my friend? Has he offended you in some manner?"

"Nah. He is just a little fag. I saw him watching you in gym class. I think he has something going about you. We don't like that here." Eddie looked a little wide-eyed. I don't think he wanted to tangle with William, who had a couple inches and twenty pounds on him.

"Ah," said William "You are protecting me, then."

"Yeah. That's it. I'm on your side," said Eddie, a little nervously.

"I will thank you, then, and ask you to step away. It is a dishonor in my country to have others fight your battles. I do not need, nor desire, your protection. In fact, I am going to make a special case of this little- how did you say it? Fag?"

"Er, yeah. OK. I gotta be going."

"I would take great offense if I see you bothering my little fag in the future. Serious offense." William put a great deal of emphasis on the last words. Eddie looked spooked.

"Right. Got it, William." He began to walk away, quicker as he went. He didn't say a thing to me. I got to my feet and dusted off the seat of my corduroys. William came up to me and looked at my face.

"I think you need a washcloth. I don't think it is too bad. He hit you fairly hard." He was so close that I could smell him. I don't know if was the effect of the blow, or his proximity that made me dizzy. Maybe it was both.

"Shall I walk you home?" he asked.

"No, no. I'm fine. Really. Thanks for your help. I knew he was trouble."

"How did it start?"

"He called you a name. I told him he shouldn't."

"I think I know the name. I might have heard it before. You Americans are strange people. But I think your heart is in the right place, Joe."

"I just think people should be polite. That's all. My Dad played on sports teams with black people and he would not stand to hear the word."

"Sometimes with experience comes tolerance. Not always, though. Let me ask you something, if I might."

"Of course."

"Are you a little queer as Eddie suggests?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I don't know what to think. My face hurts."

"Well, if you are, perhaps we can explore some of your feelings. In my country the very notion of being queer can result in being stoned to death in some provinces that follow Sharia law. If I must return to Lagos, I feel I should experience everything that America has to offer."

"Yes. Of course." My mind was reeling. He gave me a little bow, and strode off briskly in the direction of the school. I wanted to yell back to him, tell him that I wanted him to walk me home, and I wanted more than that. But I was a little dizzy.

I managed to get home and slipped up to my room without Mom seeing my face. I peered at it in the mirror, and there was not denying that I had been hit. It did not look like my eye was going to black up, but my cheek was swollen and abraded where Eddie's fist had glanced me.

I decided to yell down to Mom that I had a lot of homework and needed to work through supper. She yelled back that Dad was not going to be home, and that was fine, she would have a plate for me when I was done.

Then I went to my room and took off my pants and underwear and laid myself down on my back. My cock was straining the whole time, growing thick as I looked at my cheek, flushed and red, and when I was in the position, flat on my back, my cock was as hard as I had ever felt it.

When I stroked it I thought of William in the locker room, and the way his cock swayed when he moved. I wondered what it looked like hard, and I thought of how he had sworn to take care of me. When I spasmed to my climax it felt like my balls were boiling. I hit the headboard of my bed with my jism, Then I took my finger and scooped it up and I licked it clean. I had never done that before, but I found it exciting somehow, and the taste was not unpleasant. It stayed on my tongue, and I wondered what it would be like to taste someone else's. maybe William's.

It was not the last time I thought about that in the night, either.

The Letter

I was a little freaked out when I went to school the next day. It had only been a night and everything felt different. I went to my locker to pick up my books for first period, and when I opened the door, a heavy envelope fell out at my feet. It must have been slipped in the ventilation louvers at the top before school. I was running late already, so I slipped it in my American History book to look at later.

Mr. Rosencranz was as boring as ever, so as he talked about Marbury vs. Madison, I took out the envelope to have a better look. It was obviously expensive stationary, a kind I had never seen. It was rich cream in color, and had a monogrammed ""O" on the point of the flap. I waited until we were instructed to turn to the next chapter and concealed the sound of tearing open with the rustle of pages. Inside there was a note-card of the same creamy rich color and with the same monogram at the top.

Handwritten in bold dark ink was my name, and the request for the pleasure of my company for a meeting on a private affair, noon, on Saturday at 2374 Fallbrook Lane.

It was signed my Milton Obote. That must be William's father, I thought. Then I slipped the card back in the envelope. I wondered what he wanted to talk to me about. I hoped William had not told him about my problem with Eddie, ro worse, what he had called me. I'll confess I could not keep my mind on the early Supreme Court. All I could think about was how William swayed as he moved, and when the next phys ed class was.

A House in the Suburbs

William's father had secured a home in the very best neighborhood of my affluent town. I don't know if he rented or bought the place. I understood the Nigerian government had plenty of money, and maybe they had purchased through an intermediary.

I had to ride my bike nearly five miles to get there, and I was winded when I arrived. There was a gated entrance to a long black-top driveway and impeccable landscaping. The gates stood open, and I rode right through.

I put the bike on the kickstand and walked up to the door, totally nervous. I pushed the button, and after a moment the massive slab began to swing open.

I assumed William would answer the door, but it was not him. It was a tall African man, lean and powerful with an impassive face. I told him who I was, and that Mr. Obote had requested me to come. He nodded and indicated that I was to follow him.

I stepped in and he carefully closed the door behind me, and then turned and stepped briskly toward the interior of the house, following a Oriental carpet that looked about thirty yards long. It led down a long central corridor with doors to either side. The man stopped at the second one on the right, opened it, and gestured me in.

I stepped in, walking over another giant oriental rug. Books filled cases built in to all the walls. There was a massive carved desk, and a gas log burning in the fireplace. Three chairs were arranged near it, and two men were seated there. One had silver hair that radiated around his dark face like a corona. The other was as dark as night, powerful looking even as he sat. That one gestured to me, waving me toward the third chair.

It was cushioned in green leather the color of money.

I sat down gingerly. "Welcome to my home, Joseph. I am pleased that you could come." I nodded, uncertain as to what I could possibly say to him. His eyes were deep as obsidian pools circled by ors of brilliant white. His teeth were regular and gleaming white against his rich dark lips, full and sensuous.

"This is my associate, Dr. Onisha. We are from the same village in our homeland, and he is here to assist me in a cultural matter."

The Doctor nodded, silent, observing me. Mr. Obote continued. "I had a long conversation with William the other evening, after he intervened on your behalf. It occurred to me that you had in fact intervened on his behalf, and given the context of what he told me, I have developed a proposition which I will offer for your consideration."

"I would be honored to hear what it is, Sir." This was so formal I had no choice but to try to match his gravity.

"First, let me give you some background which will help you to understand what might be a difficult concept for you. I come from Nigeria, as you know, and am a senior official in the Oil Ministry. We have been blessed with riches in my homeland. But in my homeland there are many ethnic groups. In fact, there are trhee hundred languages and dialects spoken there."

He assumed a lecturing mode, tenting his hands and speaking over them. "I will avoid the term "tribe" to describe these ethnic groups. That word is a racist term. The Ibo and Hausa-Fulani are each made up of five to ten million people, a figure comparable to the number of, say, Scots, Welsh, Armenians, Serbs or Croats. We do not refer to the latter groups as "tribes." As we are attempting to discard the prejudices of imperialism, it is best to discard the term altogether."

"With that in mind, I will bore you with a brief explanation of why my village home has some customs that you might think peculiar, but which make profound sense in the context of where we live."

Dr. Onisha nodded, and said "In our homeland, which is a fictional creation of the British colonialists, there are three major ethnic groups. The first is the Yoruba, who claim a grand history going back to royalty in Ghana and Niger. The second group is the Hausa-Fulani, who are an Islamic people whose origins lie in the Chad Basin. They are known to be tough businessmen, and have a judicial system that follows the strict principals of the Koran. They are best known for a religious war, or Jihad, that resulted in the conquest of the northeastern provinces of our homeland. "

Mr. Obote's eyes twinkled gravely. "Dr Onitsha and myself are Ibo, which is to say we are a synthesis of many smaller groups, and our society is based on the village unit. Our home is the belt of forest in the country to the east of the Niger Valley. We stayed there, close to our villages to avoid the annual slave raids of the Fulani. They rode horseback, and were unable to penetrate deep into our forest. Their application of strict Sharia has been a source of continuing conflict between us and the Fulani. Some of our practices are considered offenses worthy of being stoned to death. There is not love lost between us."

"Our largest social unit is the village, where each extended of our extended family managed its own affairs without being dictated to by any higher authority. Because of our requirement to live, we developed unique customs that have stayed with us, even as we left the forest and went to the English schools, and eventually joined the central government."

"Dr. Onisha and myself left the village when we were not much older than yourself and William. We learned well the lessons our elders taught us. As small groups, our family structure was important. The girls were separated from the boys when they began to menstruate, and were not permitted to be alone with the boys until a marriage was arranged. There was no concept of romantic love, as you have here in America."

He shook his head. "I am not sure that exists in any event, between man and woman. Marriage for us was a business proposition, or what you might call a practical union for survival."

"But our village knew that young men have needs, and there must be an outlet for them. Accordingly, we follow a ritual that permits the rising sap of our young men to flow freely, but in a way that does not endanger the social fabric of the village. When they come of age, the older men show them the way, in a manner that teaches them respect and appreciation for the power of the Odo-me, or what you would call the phallus, and the way of the warrior."

"Joseph, I tell you this because I have a proposition for you. My business here in the United States will require me to stay here for another year or more. I do not find kinship with the blacks in your major city. I believe them to be Americans, and filled with a spirit of bitterness that is derived from their years of slavery and subservience."

"Likewise I have little fondness for your white society. I can feel its self-destructive hatred for people of color, and I know I can never be a part of it. William feels that, too, and I have discouraged him from social interaction in this community for fear of what might happen to him were he to take up with a white girl."

"Being here, he has not had the opportunity to be brought into society as we chose in my village, and it is not appropriate for his father to do so. That accounts for the visit of Dr. Onisha. It is time for William."

"From what he has told me about the incident at school, it occurred to me that he might need a friend who could appreciate our unique way. He mentioned that you defended him against a bully, and that you were called names for it as well. He said you were called a queer, and a faggot. Is that true?"

I cleared my throat in embarrassment. "Yes, Sir, it is true. At least the part about the name-calling. I do not know if I am queer. I have no experience about that."

Mr. Obote smiled broadly. "William told me that you looked at him, entranced, when you were in Physical Training." I blushed for sure then, looking down.

"He also mentioned that you were fair, and that your eyes were as beautiful as a girl's, and that you were well endowed, for a white boy."

There was nothing I could say to that and I did not try. I wondered where this lecture was leading. My stomach churned. Mr. Obote rose and walked to the window, which looked out into a garden.

"Joseph," he said, "I would like to make you a proposition. I would like to have you participate in the ritual of my people, and be a companion for William while we remain here in America. It might be useful for you, to understand us, and it would enable William to remain pure, by our understanding of that, and with the outlets that a young man needs."

I was trembling. "What would it mean, sir?"

"It does not hurt. Or perhaps it does have some mild discomfort for a little time and the pleasure more than makes up for it. It is a ceremony of great solemnity, and of great respect. Does this interest you?"

I swallowed. "Yes, Sir. It does very much." Mr. Obote nodded.

"I thought that might be your answer, but I want you to think about it. There are aspects of this that are alien to your land, and it is a matter that we keep with the utmost confidentiality. It you wish to continue on this road, I extend to you an invitation to return here on Saturday, at one o'clock."

"I'll be here," I said. That was it. The two men nodded, and it was clear that I was to leave. The tall servant was waiting outside the door, and he led me out without a word.

When I returned that Saturday, I was about fit to be tied. I had been jerking off at least four times a day. Eddie had left me alone. And something big was going to happen. I just knew it.

When I got to the house and ditched my bike, William opened the door. The servant who had greeted me that last time was no where to be seen. He gazed at me solemnly and reached out his hand. I gripped it, marveling at his strength and the length of his fingers. He drew me into the cool darkness of the foyer. The oriental rug stretched off into the vast hall.

"Come with me," he said in his rich voice. "We must prepare."

He turned and walked off briskly, expecting me to follow him. I blurted out "Prepare for what?" but his air of command compelled me to follow along like a puppy.

We did not go down the passage to the library. Instead, we passed quickly through a kitchen with appliances that gleamed in stainless elegance and back down a hallway to what might have been the maid's quarters.

A window looked out to the green foliage. It was very quiet. William faced me, and placed his hands on my upper arms, holding me away from him as he looked deep into my eyes.

"This is an important day for me, and I am pleased that my father has agreed to allow you to participate in it."

"But what is it we are going to do? Exactly?" William smiled at me.

"Today, we will become men." He must have seen the question in my blue eyes. "It is an important ritual of my Father's village. It is of great significance, a rite of passage into adulthood, and an exposure to the miracle, and the cult of the warrior."

"I'm not a warrior, William. I am not sure exactly what I am."

He smiled again. "My father says he thinks you might be an effeminate man. In my language there are two words each for penis, vagina and sexual intercourse. But there are no less than four words for "effeminate man." As Eddie called you, a homo. But in our society it is not something to be ashamed of. It is part of life, and a part of it to be celebrated."

I swallowed heavily. "I'm not sure this is a good idea, William. I don't know if I want to be celebrated. I am not ready."

He drew me closer to him, and kissed me on the forehead. "There is no finality in this. There is only a beginning to the road. In my world, there is a journey and many places to stop, and many paths that diverge in the forest."

He released me, but I stood, almost paralyzed. "Now, let us get ready to present ourselves to the Elders. Remove your clothing, and put this on. I will show you how."

He handed me a square of brightly colored cloth, shaking it open to reveal a long rectangle. "Put this on like a kilt. I will show you how to fold it properly so that it stays up."

Then he began to unbutton his shirt. I stood holding the fabric, swallowed hard, and began to follow William as he took off his clothes.

I was naked before him, my clothes neatly folded when he turned to me and smiled.

"This is a day of great joy." He padded over to the bathroom, his wonderful cock swaying between his legs. I watched in wonder, my own cock growing in girth, rising with anticipation of what might be about to happen. He reached into the medicine cabinet and took something out. He walked back to me and I saw that in his hands were two small bundles, wrapped in a green leaf. He handed me one and I looked at it with curiosity.

"What is it?"

"Inside the leaf is a paste made from roots that grow in our forest at home. Unwrap it, and lick up the contents."

"Is it a drug?"

"Not in the way that you would think. It brings oneness to the ceremony, a relaxation, I am told. I have not tasted of it, but my Father says it is part of the tradition."

I looked at him skeptically, but he unwrapped his leaf and raised it to his full lips. His dark eyes seemed to bore into mine. I unfolded the leaf. The paste within was pale yellow and had a rich earthy scent. He opened his mouth, and his dark tongue began to lap the contents of his leaf. I shrugged and did the same.

The paste was bitter, but not unpalatably so. It tingled in my mouth and I swallowed it. William grimaced a bit, and then took the leaf from me, looking to see that I had consumed it all. He folded them together carefully, and placed them on top of his folded clothing. "I will save these as a souvenir of this day. A day of beginnings."

He picked up the folded cloth. "Now turn around, Joe, and I will show you how this is worn."

I turned my back to him as he shook out the cloth. His hands came around my waist, bring the cloth so that it overlapped and tented on my hardness. I blushed again. I could feel the warmth of his body against mine and I wanted to slump back against him. I could feel his hardness against me and I began to tingle. I looked down at the fabric, rich red on the border, and creamy white with large red and black paisley shapes.

Was it the paste, or was it the feel of his strength and the closeness of him? I could not tell. His left hand held one end of the cloth flat against my belly, and then his right pressed the other end across it. He folded the overlap back so it made a long rectangular fold down my middle. Then he rolled the top down so that it gathered in a neat waistband.

I felt his hands on my shoulders as he turned me to face him, and he looked down at his handiwork. I blushed harder as he looked at my erection.

"You are ready, I see. That is good, Joe." His own cock had swelled up, arcing away from his belly and the tight back curls around his groin. The tip of his helmet was peaking out of the gathered skin. I wanted to reach out and touch it, tease that long shift into full fierce erection. The blood hammered in my ears. He smiled at me.

"Soon."

He put on his own skirt, folding it efficiently. I looked at him with wonder. His powerful neck sloped down to meet his powerful shoulders. His biceps swelled and his chest was smooth, tapering down his torso to a narrow waist. His hips were accentuated by muscular buttocks and tall thighs.

"You are very handsome," I stammered. A warm feeling was spreading all through my body as though the heat from my blush was penetrating through my middle. My cock strained against the fabric of my skirt. "What is going to happen, William?"

"We will be called to the garden, where the ceremony will be conducted. It will not be long." Somewhere deep in the house a bell chimed. He smiled, his teeth rich and gleaming white.

"It is time. Follow me. Relax. This is a time of great joy."

He walked out of the room, his shoulders back, and I scurried along behind him, barefoot, with the thin fabric whispering along my thighs.

William walked through the kitchen to where a door opened into a garden patio. Thick foliage surrounded the bricks, so there was complete privacy. This was not a backyard in suburbia. It was like a glade in forest. Two tall chairs with carved backs flanked a large red floral arrangement that projected upward. I thought it might be a cactus, since it was tall as a man, and the circumference of a coffee can. Two bushy plants were paired at the base, and I realized the arrangement was a giant penis, and large fleshy balls.

it must be the odo-me, I thought, filled with wonder. In front of the odo-me was a low bench of dark wood.

The servant who had first admitted me to this house was crouched on a blanket, holding a tall drum with a worn animal skin head between his knees. He wore a skirt in the same pattern as ours, and as we emerged, he began to tap on the surface of the drum in a strange rhythm.

Seated in the chairs were Mr. Obote and his associate, Dr. Onisha. Their arms rested on the wings of the chairs, and their legs were open. Between their feet on the ground was a pad of plaited straw. They were bare-chested, and wore necklaces made of ivory discs connected by dark leather. Their faces were impassive, and stern. He gestured to me to stand before him, as William took up place in front of the Doctor.

Mr. Obote began to speak as a felt the beat of the drum assume the same meter of my heart. My legs felt week, and the warm feeling was spreading through me as though my blood was being warmed. My breathing grew shallow. I licked my lips.

"In the forest, there are a complex set of beliefs that has enabled us to survive. This is a sacred moment that is consecrated in our people. It celebrates the power of the penis, and the milk of creation. That men should naturally be with men is as the Gods created it. Men and women bear children together. It is proper that men should celebrate real love with other men, and that love is a sacred union."

I thought his words made perfect sense, or that they buzzed like an insect inside my ear. " We believe that there is danger of the warrior being weakened by contact with the vagina of women. Our law holds that contact with women should be regulated and there are restrictions of when and how often marital intercourse are permissible. Mostly it is for alliance and reproduction. The needs of men are frequent, and they must be accommodated."

"In the Konso language, Joseph, we have words for men who never marry, and weak men, and men who wear skirts. There is a continuous gradation of maleness from the ritual kings to sub-chiefs on down, rather than absolutely discrete gender categories. Today I will serve as your ritual king, your indoctrinator into manhood, which is composed of submission and mastery. Dr. Onisha will serve that role for my son, since it is inappropriate for a father to join with his son to create the male principle incarnate. Advance, boys, and become men. I will continue the sacred words in our own language. Boys, kneel before us and prepare to become men."

I looked out the corner of my eyes and saw William walk forward, and then get down on his knees between the legs of the Doctor. I swallowed hard and did the same. Mr Obote's massive thighs strained at the thin fabric that covered them. I looked up at him, as he continued to speak in words that I could not understand. They began to blur into the beating of the drum, and his voice rose and fell in waves that I could feel through my body.

I began to sway in a gentle motion, smelling the rich man-smell of him. Then the words stopped. I saw large a large black hand with pink palm before my eyes, and the skirt was pulled open, and his manhood- his odo-me- revealed before my eyes.

The massive shaft of his cock lay next to his thigh. It must have been eight inches long, flaccid as it was. I was flooded with the aroma of him, soap, and musk and his intimate sweat. His hands reached out to the sides of my head, gently but insistently pulling me forward. The pounding of my heart became a roar as I neared the serpent before me. It twitched, rising of its own. I was hypnotized as it brushed my lips. I breathed deeply, the smell overwhelming my senses. I opened my mouth and licked the tip of him. It was slimy, almost tasteless. I licked again, and then felt myself began to take him in my mouth, the folds around the massive helmet soft on my tongue. It began to engorge, growing in me.

Mr. Obete pulled my head forward and I eagerly complied with his direction. I took as much as I could in my mouth, looking up at his face, his warm eyes looking down with approval. He moved my head between his strong hands, and I took his direction with the beating of the drum and the roaring of my heart. I reached up and grasped the base of the monster and began to suckle on him, slurping with desire for him. The slimy tip of his cock was now fully exposed and its velvet hardness caressed my tongue. I began to bob up and down, happy in my service to the odo-me.

I felt compete as he slid in and out of me. I licked feverishly, desiring his pleasure, craving it, black thighs against my white hands. I caressed his large black scrotum, feeling the great orbs within as large as billiard balls. They rolled smoothly under the smooth skin. He was now fully erect and I could feel his hips begin to move to my motion and that of the drum. I could feel him nearing his climax and I moved my head with more urgency, greedy for my reward of his African manhood.

Then the drum stopped. Mr. Obete's large hands pushed my head back, and I resisted, wanting his jism to come in my mouth, frantic at the loss of his cock on my tongue. He placed a hand on my forehead, curling his finger in my bangs to hold me there in front of his engorged monster. With his right hand he began to stroke himself and I strained forward to get at it, my mouth open, tongue extended, hungry for him.

His eyes rolled back in his head and he moaned a little, and then the hot white jets erupted from the head of his mighty cock. The first jet struck me over my eye, and I blinked. Then another hit my forehead with enough velocity to splash, and ran down my cheek, and the third I managed to catch in my waiting mouth, and another. He must have shot six great bolts before he was done. Then he took his dark hands, and with the pale palms massaged his man-juice into my white skin, rubbing it in deeply, marking me.

When he was done he gave me the great honor of returning to his odo-me, to lap up the semen and clean him. The taste of him was intoxicating, or maybe it the drug. Or maybe it was all of them that made the faint acrid taste of his cum so sweet to my lips and tongue and gullet.

When I was done cleaning him with my mouth, he gently pushed me away.

"That was very good, Joseph. You show great enthusiasm. Now we will complete our rite. Crawl to the bench, and kneel before it."

I did as I was commanded, the folds of my skirt unfurling and opening, so that it fell way from my flanks. I knelt before low bench and I could hear the drum beginning once more. Mr. Obote and Dr. Onisha moved to stand beside me, and they gently grasped my shoulders and moved me forward until my chest was on the bench. They moved my hands until they found two posts at the end. I grasped them, feeling the gentle wind caress my buttocks. I was one with the drum, and I wondered where William had gone, and if the Doctor had come in his face, and rubbed it into his rich skin.

Suddenly I felt hands on my cheeks, caressing them, seperating them, opening me to inspection. Something cool and greasy was rubbed in my crack, and I could feel my erection straining up, touching the wood of the bench. I moaned. The coolness felt good, and when something probed at my bud, I felt an almost electric shock. Something penetrated me, a finger, I thought, and it caressed me, in and out.

It felt unnerving, like nothing I had experienced before. Then there was another finger, and a third, and the stroking became more vigorous. I began to push back into them, feeling the need for them to plunge deeper into me, to touch that place that made me quiver.

Suddenly they withdrew, and I felt empty and alone. I looked to the side, and the Doctor was still there, looking down, and Mr. Obotoe suddenly reappeared on my other side. He offered his hand to me, and smiled. I began t lick his fingers, smelling me and tasting the oil on them. As I licked, I felt something else. It was not a finger, It was far too massive for that. It pushed against my ring, and I welcomed the invader, pushing back against it.

It entered me suddenly and I cried out. It was too big, it was going to split me. I struggled, but I felt Mr. Obote's great hand stroke my head, quieting my fear.

The huge cock that was coming inside me rested for a moment, and then slowly began to slide within me once more. The pressure was inexorable, and I began to loosen under the pressure. It seemed to take forever until William had buried himself within me, and I could feel his balls hanging against my own.

He rested there, and I could feel the warmth within me growing. Then he began to withdraw, first a half stroke, and then a full one, plunging into me to the hilt. As he penetrated me, the head of his cock ran over a spot that made me quiver in anticipation, and then again, and again, growing more insistent with each stroke, slamming me against the bench, filling me up, completely.

My tongue hung out and I drooled. My own cock shot off without being touched, and I saw colors. I moaned and I cried in joy at this ride, and it went on with dramatic motion until suddenly William quivering and I knew he was shooting his sperm deep into me, breeding me to him. His first.

He softened, at length, and I wept as he left me. I felt empty and void. Then suddenly there was another cock, bigger than William's, and I cried out in joy as it stuffed me full, and rocked on the bench, pushing against him. I did not know who it was, Mr. Obote or Dr. Onisha. The drum paced the motion of the cock that penetrated me, binding me.

Then there was the moment, and the warm flood into me, and the softening. Then another cock, and another.

There was no drumbeat for the last, so I knew it was the servant who took me, too, four fat cocks leaving me full of Africa. I could not move when they were done with me, and I lay on the bench, warm cum running from my stretched-out bud, the liquid cooling as it ran down my white thigh.

Mr. Obete appeared before me, and I looked up languidly as him, craving his cock in anyway I could get it. But I could not move.

He and the Doctor helped me up, more cum leaking from me as I stood. I was as hard as a post again, my cock straining up against my pale belly. The drum stood unattended by the door. They turned me and I saw William standing before me. His smile was gentle, and his proud cock was starting to rise again. I began to cry.

"There, there," said the Doctor. "The initiation is complete. You are a man now. You have been initiated into our village, and you and William may do what you want now. Do not be sad."

I sniffed. "I'm not sad," I said. "I want all of you again."

Mr. Obote laughed. "Then you will have us all again. But in the meantime, I think William would like to see you again, this time alone."

As soon as I could walk under my own power, that is exactly what we did. We went upstairs to his room, and we showered together, his rich dark skin against mine, and with my lips on that magnificent cock, and he took me again in his bed, this time on my back, with my legs up on his shoulders so that he could watch my face as he drove into me.

That might be the way I liked it best with him, first sucking and then being fucked face-to-face. We did that a lot over the next year, until the Obetes made preparation to return to Lagos.

I was lost when they were gone. But do you think there is any way that I would not go to Africa and try to find them again? Or at least something like them. The Peace Corps seemed to be the way to do it, but that is another story.

If you ask nicely, perhaps I will tell you. Anymouse2003@yahoo.com