The events and characters in the following story are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, persons or organisations is purely coincidental. Please NOTE WELL that opinions, attitudes or lifestyles expressed or portrayed herein DO NOT necessarily represent those of the author. This is an ADULT ONLY homoerotic story. If you are likely to be offended by such literature, then I strongly advise that you read no further. Lastly, please feel free to contact me with any insights, comments or recommendations. Enjoy!
Part 1 -- INCARCERATION.
"Listen, Mr Black, in all honesty, I really don't think that you appreciate the gravity of your situation. In fact, I have to say I'm at a loss to know where we go from here. Without the cooperation of local police officials, there's very little Her Majesty's Government can do for you. I would like to think that..." "I need water. They're not providing fresh water." Bertram Black cut in, looking up wearily. Lugubrious eyes peered at Donald Kurtz, a senior official from the British Consulate in Ghana. Kurtz returned a sympathetic smile that failed to instil much hope in his beleaguered compatriot. "Oh I see. Yes, well, of course. I'll ensure Radley gets that to you shortly. No doubt, they'll expect another bribe for their help in poking it through the bars." Kurtz sighed resignedly, reaching for a white handkerchief and dabbing his glistening forehead. He wished to god that he was still in the sanctuary of his air-conditioned villa rather than the stifling torment of Kumasi Central Police Station. Its languid atmosphere was dulling his wits. He removed a pen and notebook and dutifully scribbled 'water' on a growing list. "And how are we being looked after here otherwise, Mr Black?" He enquired somewhat distractedly. Black shot him a dejected glance. "Not well." Came the lacklustre reply. "In what way? Are you being mistreated? Please, Mr Black, do be candid with me. It may ultimately assist us in this, um... predicament." Black caressed an angry looking abrasion on his cheek, wincing slightly. His recollections of the past few days remained a blurring tumult of anguish and confusion. He spoke absently, gazing through a barred window at a merging myriad of flaming city lights beyond. Kumasi's sprawling maze of tattered shops and peeling facades tumbled down the hillside, diminishing into the smouldering embers of the horizon. The city seemed a fading relic of some imperial grandeur and a testimony to the slow ravishment of time. "They've hit me. Well, one of then has anyway. A thug they call 'Ni'. Uses nylon ropes to 'educate' the inmates. Doesn't seem as if my English credentials have saved me from his attentions." Again, Kurtz put pen to paper briefly then returned a solemn gaze. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr Black. I'm afraid the rights and privileges we've come to enjoy in the United Kingdom aren't necessarily practiced elsewhere." It was a trite remark. Black resisted an urge to be sarcastic. "You shouldn't worry about me, Kurtz. I'm well accustomed to being vilified."
Kurtz noticed Black's simmering irritation and checked his watch. The rather officious duty officer had made it abundantly clear that Black would have to return to the communal holding cell by 10pm. There were minutes to spare. After a hurried series of assurances, he got up and shook hands with Black, hoping to convey a sense of concern. Black did not feel greatly heartened at this, nor by his somewhat brisk departure. A uniformed guard entered, giving the British official a rather farcical salute to which Kurtz nodded politely.
The guard's avaricious eyes glinted appraisingly at the spectacle of his latest prisoner. It was as if he were scrutinising some prized chattel. Black was attracting more than just notoriety in his new- found abode. In the dank, sweating recesses of the shadowy inferno, frustrations could reach fever pitch. Under the breathless veil of darkness, a mass of sleepless desires festered and stirred. Tentative hands strayed skittishly yet inexorably...
"You go back now, my white friend. The men, they look after you." The guard's inflection was laden with innuendo. A knowing smile flitted over normally austere features, softening his furrows. Black begrudgingly returned a smile as he was ushered along a shabby blue corridor. As he shambled passed the main desk, the duty officer called after him. "Ah, English man! You enjoy Kumasi Police Station? You should, it was you people who built it!" The taunt seemed like an open invitation for sarcasm but, not for the first time, Black wisely resisted. He was darkly amused by the likelihood that these officious autocrats had inherited their pomposity from their British colonists; his ancestors... "I'm managing thanks. I'm fine." He muttered back with veiled contempt. "You invite me to your country one day. You find me good English wife to marry!" The officer yelled. Black tried to stave off a smile, but failed. The guard bade him undress and bundled his clothes into a tattered cardboard box. He had been reminded on numerous occasions that being able to retain his underpants was a special dispensation that should be generously rewarded. The guard proceeded to unlock an ancient lattice steel door, gesturing for him to cross the threshold. "Go sleep. Say Prayer." "Yes, thanks. Thanks so much." Feigning humility made things easier. Much easier. Black ventured blindly through a fetid darkness until his outstretched fingers floundered against a clammy, uneven wall. Somewhere in the steamy blackness, bodies stirred. An unspoken anticipation charged the air like the brooding prelude to an electrical storm. Indiscernible forms writhed restlessly at his approach.
When Black had first entered the bleak squalor of the Ghanaian prison, it had been lit by a pallid daylight. All eyes had been upon him. Thirty or more inmates, maybe more; dumbstruck. Incredulous at the unlikely prospect of a white detainee. No one had dared approach him at that time. It was as if some imperceptible barrier had set him apart and made him untouchable. Black even speculated that they were in awe of him in some way. Why? Was he really so different? Was not incarceration contrived to be the great leveller?
For some seconds the momentous tribulations of that day had paled into the shadows. Black gazed in wonderment at a vision of taught muscle and lithe sinew. A breathtaking dark host of African men encircled him; an amorphous mass of gleaming torso and hungry eye. Gloriously naked, all stood proud and indomitable, quite unaware how, in Black's eyes, they represented such an iconic and potent masculinity. But that was nearly two weeks ago now...
Black continued to nudge and grope his way to his allotted sleeping space. He tried to slow his breathing and still the flurry of runaway heartbeats. His left hand revealed the alcove into an adjoining cell. As with previous nights, he would attempt to sleep on the mouldering floor. His only comfort would be his toilet roll for a pillow. That was how it was; a vile, barren womb of concrete and steel. Languishing in filth like a beast. A daily degradation, inexorably stripping away the last lingering semblances of humanity.
Within the harsh surroundings he perceived whispers, snoring. Restive hands brushing skin, scratching hair. Low, longing groans at the fringe of hearing. From somewhere in the dark there came a ribald whisper. "Ah, nice white man, my brudder return. Handsome white man. Let me be your friend." And that was how it had started...
Part 2 -- GHOSTS OF MEMORY.
Memories of the fateful night that led him to this place of torment drifted back to Bertram Black, unbidden. Phantasms of some ghastly nightmare haunting a swirling, drunken miasma. The broken syntax of conversations, monstrous snapshots, a reeling nausea. Self-recrimination ever plucking at frayed nerves. Ghostly fingers insinuating accusations in some cruel and relentless fury. It was all his fault. It was all his damn fault and there was nothing he could do to rewrite history. History was a bleak, unassailable fortress that imprisoned him, obliterating hope beneath its cold, unforgiving shadow. If only things had been different... Jesus! How many times had he wished for that? Inexorably, Black's mind spiralled downwards into gloomy recollection.
The argument that night with Austin had driven him to some kind of madness. What the hell was his boyfriend thinking of, fucking the hotel porter in their bed? Their bed, for Christ sakes! The same bed that, only hours before, they had made love, made promises, talked about a future, about commitment. Then having to witness all those hopes smashed to smithereens. Obliterated. And then, Austin, standing there, indignant; even smiling! Tempers had flared. A blind rage had consumed Black. Fists had flown. Blows exchanged. Spiteful home truths hurled way too lightly. Black's anger eclipsing his pain. Stinging tears. A leaden numbness in his limbs. A dull ache in his chest...
During the confrontation, Black remembered how Austin's face had contorted into a grotesque mask of rage. Some kind of monstrous fury had overtaken him. Black was knocked to the bed, pinned down; ensnared like some naturalist's thrashing specimen. His strength was no match for Austin's. The agony of the frenzied rape still plunged like a dagger into his stricken heart.
When it was over, Black had careened into the bathroom. Knocking over chairs, blundering and dizzy. There was a desire to cleanse himself. Wash away the pain. Erase the stain of memory. He staggered into the shower cubicle. Pink rivulets drained down into a porcelain vortex. Blood. Stark light jabbed like realisation at his watery eyes. Black pressed them shut as he scoured his violated body. Over and over. Scrubbing until crimson welts striated his skin. Drying himself, putting on some pants. Pouring a measure of vodka sufficient to nullify pain, obliterate thought.
Austin was leaning nonchalantly against the ornate balcony railing, oblivious to his approach and apparently indifferent to his torment. He was speaking jovially on his cell phone in his guttural language. He was even laughing! Seemingly, untroubled by conscience or regret. The seconds blurred. Black remembered feeling oddly dislocated from his body. Austin had turned as Black's silhouette had been framed in the doorway. Again, he was laughing.
"You bastard!" Black had bellowed as he hurled the drink at his tormentor. He had only intended to scare him or to make him somehow share his pain. Yes, he had lost control but... the glass struck Austin squarely on the forehead in a cascade of glittering shards. He had staggered heavily against the railing. Then, with one heart-stopping wrench, it had given way...
For a moment, Austin had looked dazed as he teetered at the edge of a precipice. Then he lurched backwards, plummeting into an inky chasm of shadows. Black heard the railing clatter onto the concrete. Seconds later, here was a nauseating thud from somewhere far below. Then silence.
Moments later, the remaining vodka had not been sufficient to drown out that same ominous silence. It was only when the frantic knocking at his door turned into thunderous blows that it receded. It was only when the door splintered and armed police invaded the room that Black realised absently that he was clutching Austin's tear stained photo. The rest was a swirling haze. A melee of gruff unintelligible phonetics, jumbled images; flashing past, echoing in the void. He was on some out-of-control carousel whirling; faster, faster...
Part 3 -- SEX IN THE DARK.
There was no lavatory in the jail. Inmates had to undergo the indignity of having to shit in plastic bags. A putrid mountain of them occupied the furthest corner. A single shower ran intermittently and randomly. The men observed a strict pecking order in its use. The sporadic downpour also provided the only source of drinking water.
Black wished he were under that spray of soothing water as he lay restlessly in the prickly heat. At least Kurtz had organised some fresh water. That was something. He had even given Black his sandwiches and a lug of whiskey from his hip flask. He had devoured both rapaciously.
There was however one thirst that had not been quenched. One hunger that still lingered. He was being driven insane with sexual frustration. It was a perpetual urge that deprived him of sleep and tormented his waking thoughts. All around him there was that same undeclared need. Sometimes he would discern groans, the sound of men pleasuring themselves in the dark. He would hear the rising crescendo of their panting and the faint friction noises of sticky flesh.
Those at the bottom of the pecking order would sometimes find themselves the object of inescapable manly desires. In the dark, they would remain strangely compliant, as they were vigorously gang-fucked. There would be the sound of sweat-drenched skin slapping rapidly against skin. A succession of stifled and lusty groans of rapture. When it was finally over, a pitiful whimper would sometimes emanate from the unforgiving night.
So far, interest in Black had been tentative. But that was all about to change. The company he was keeping was proving to be a potent aphrodisiac. Black knew at that moment he needed a lot more than just a stiff drink inside him...
Part 4 -- AUSTIN AND DUPLICITY.
Black wallowed in the darkness; pensive and remote. Austin had made a lot of promises over the years. Deep down, Black knew that he was incapable of keeping any of them. He had lived with the delusion that 'things would get better' for so long that it had become some kind of mantra in all his many disappointments. If anything, Austin was getting worse. His recent choice of lovers plumbed depths that seemed quite unfathomable, even to Black.
There was one recent example. His name; 'Jocelyn'. He was rich, overweight and overbearing. In Blacks estimations, he had the personality of a pig and the porcine hygiene habits to match. And yet, after hearing of their liaisons and confronting Austin, it seemed his boyfriend had still 'gone there'. Jesus Christ, what a farce! Well, the guy had money, and that was the harsh reality of it all. Austin was an opportunist hustler who enjoyed the ego trip of his promiscuity so much that any prior aesthetic considerations no longer applied. Anything and anyone was considered and a quick fuck was his equivalent of a polite handshake. There was no line that Austin wouldn't cross. No taboos or boundaries in his untamed desires. Most of Black's more reliable friends had, at some point, spoken of their polite refusals and mild shock at Austin's clumsy attempts to seduce them. When questioned, Austin would either deny it or simply laugh it off. What a piece of work he truly was!
"Each man kills the thing he loves." Isn't that what Oscar Wilde had written? Isn't that what they had done to each other? Maybe that was what everyone did to each other, ultimately?
Black remembered a time when things had been different between them. God, so different. Those halcyon days before he had finally peered into the gloomy underworld of his lover's clandestine existence. Too late, he had realised the true nature of Austin; ersatz, devious, manipulative. But by then, love had clasped him in its cloying and insidious tendrils. He was too late in his realisation that his lover's life was ruled by passion, rather than governed by ethics. Austin, his one great love, possessed all the qualities of a dog - except loyalty!
There were those same damn pointless arguments about Austin's continual infidelities. If only Black could extricate Austin from memory. And yet, he just couldn't bring himself to leave Austin (oh, the persistence of sentiment!). Maybe their souls were now bound together in hate where once they were intertwined with love? If only he could have severed his ties and maybe discovered someone more worthy of his devotion. It was all one big fucking mess and the bitter irony was that Black's high ideals had, in many ways, made him the author of his own downfall.
Yet despite Austin's total lack of ethics, Black had loved him, adored him, but most of all he always hungered after his sex. His sweet injection was a needle-full of heroin conjuring up some divine rhapsody beyond the grinding ennui of existence. It was an ambrosial poison that saturated mind, body and spirit with sublime torment. For Black, there were no comparisons. Sure, he'd taken occasional 'paramours' in England, but they were only pale substitutions for his one true passion.
But that was then... A time before the absence of light in Black's mind. A time when the disfigured manikin that had lain sprawled in the filth of the street had been an angel incarnate, winging its way across a vastness of solitude.
Now there was no past. There would be no future. There was only now. The seizing of the moment. Nothing else mattered anymore. In the temporal glimmer of existence, there was only sensual gratification remaining to illuminate the dim corners of a dark black soul. The paradox of Austin was no more; passed. Austin; the light of his life and yet the very heart of his darkness. All that remained was a final surrender to a tidal wave of carnality. Being swept up and borne away into the distant oblivion of pleasure.
Part 5 --THE ENEMY WITHIN.
"And how are we today, Mr Black?" Black ignored Kurtz, choosing instead to stare through a barred window at the abstract configurations of city lights beneath a waning sun. The vista seemed strangely apocalyptic in its infernal vastness. "What the investigation will try to establish is whether there was premeditation. Did you have forethought in your actions that night, or was this some spontaneous crime of passion?" Once again, images of the fated night started to well up from some murky abyss, clouding Black's eyes. "It was neither. It was an accident okay? Jesus Kurtz, how many more times do I have to go over this with you? How could I have known that the balcony rail would give way? It could have happened to anyone!" "Correction, Mr Black. It happened to you just after a fight that was heard by several other guests at the hotel. You tell me that you were brutally raped in the course of events. I'm sorry, but that gives you a motive for revenge. Maybe even for murder. I'm afraid we find ourselves in a very precarious situation..." Black's temper flared. He resented Kurtz's unremitting aloof condescension. "Listen Kurtz, I may not be the academic that you are. I may not even have attended the right public school, but at least I know how to use my pronouns correctly...don't we?" He mocked. Kurtz seemed slightly taken aback for a moment, but soon regained his composure. "On the contrary, Mr Black. You're quite the brooding intellectual when you put your mind to it." Black snorted derisively. Kurtz continued, unabashed. "What, actually, I had planned to say was that we might be able to secure your release under the terms of the extradition treaty that exists between our mutual countries. Believe me, Mr Black, I'm doing my utmost toward that end." He paused, allowing himself a modicum of smug satisfaction. Black however regarded him impassively. "Do carry on Kurtz. Or is this a cue for me to appear impressed?" "Listen, Mr Black, to be frank with you, one might be forgiven for thinking that you actually wish to remain in this damn hell-hole? This little corner of Sodom. Believe me, I do understand your frustration with proceedings, but protocols have to be adhered to. We find ourselves in a complex position here..." Black cut in impatiently. "No, you listen Kurtz. I'm tired of all this bullshit. What do you want from me? Where's this leading? That's all I need to know." Kurtz exhaled. He reached into an inside pocket and produced an elegant pack of Davidoff cigarettes. Pausing to light it, he took a long drag, deliberately blowing smoke into Black's eyes. "Inducement, Mr Black, or may I call you Bertram?" A calculating smile crossed his face. "There are ways and means. And these 'ways and means' simply require the right incentive. Now, if you were to plead guilty at trial and accepted deportation, I could ensure a very agreeable outcome. You know, it's been known for certain overseas convictions to go away, or at least go astray once they reach the United Kingdom. The Home Office does have an unfortunate tendency, from time to time, to misplace certain foreign legal complications." Black regarded him with contempt. "A bribe. You're talking about a fucking bribe!" His anger flared. "You're a fucking disgrace, Kurtz! You're not even fit for purpose!" Kurtz crossed his arms defensively, regarding Black with icy deadpan eyes. "I'm sorry that you see things that way." He chided mildly. "I was simply making you aware of the options, that's all. It seems to me as if you don't have too many of those left open to you."
Black had been dragged headlong into a realisation. It was as simple as it was monstrous; it was money would guarantee his freedom. Lurking behind all the sanctimonious posturing and threats from all the officials was a thinly veiled expectation of a huge pay-off.
It had not escaped Black's notice that many of the senior police officers drove large luxurious cars. Even to an outsider, it was obvious that a police salary in West Africa could never afford them such opulence. Bribery and corruption were the accepted currency; even it seemed, amongst his own countrymen who he might have considered beyond reproach. Clearly, greed was the vice of choice and it was evidently rife at Kumasi Central Police Station. "Welcome to the real world." He muttered to himself.
Black remembered a drug dealer who had been interrogated at the same time as him. The guy had also fallen prey to Ni's attentions. After several beatings and some hours of horse-trading, Black had overheard the man agree to pay several hundred million Cedis 'bail'. It was to be divided three ways between the 'interviewing' police officers...
Black's attention wavered as Kurtz's droning voice drifted from his conscious thought. Again, he was haunting the corridors of time. He wondered if he was a good man? A few weeks ago he would have declared an unequivocal 'yes'. Maybe that was just self-delusion? A complacency composed of the frail pretensions that personal ethics were somehow immutable; stone tablets immune to the flux of fate and circumstance. Time, it appeared, had proven him wrong in his assumptions. Maybe every human being harboured some germ of destruction waiting to be kindled by rage or stirred by the passions. Borne on the tide of doom, people drifted into to foreign lands, alien places.
Part 6 -- UGLINESS IN BEAUTY.
"Buy me this ok? There's a store nearby and I need a tee shirt. Also a bag." Austin shone beautiful beady eyes upon his drowsy benefactor. Black retreated under the duvet, disorientated. Austin wrestled back the cover, forcing Black's bleary eyes to focus on his ingratiating smile. "Huh?" Austin straddled him playfully. Was this just like old times? Black wondered, half dazed. He squinted up at the dark naked perfection that pressed him to the bed. But then there was the melancholy realisation that such innocence was lost. Or should he rather call it 'naivety' on his part? The play fight was just another means for Austin to wheedle money in order that he could dress himself like a diva and impress all the would-be lovers. Black had been there a thousand times. But as ever, he relented. As ever, beguiled by Austin's beauty. He was under no illusion that Austin was simply manipulating him, but letting go still seemed unimaginable.
Black reached for his wallet and took out a bundle of Cedis, handing them to Austin. "Thank you." The tall figure lowered itself and pressed lips to Blacks mouth. Simultaneously, passions stirred. Austin slipped under the sheets, holding Black in an almost smothering embrace. Black marvelled at his eyes; smouldering embers of desire. Captivating, intoxicating, hypnotic. Half closed with veiled intention, like a coiled snake. From the insatiable furnace of Austin's loins, a slow rising monolith awakening a desperate need within Black. Searing lips devouring him; gorging on neck, nipple, thigh. Lust engulfing them and the world paling into shadow, obscured by the ascendant incandescence of ecstasy. The love they had made was, as always, consuming, frantic; as if it would be their last time. And this time, it would be...
They both lay exhausted in the dappled sunlight. Black stared absently up at the ceiling with wistful, dreaming eyes. He had hoped to take Austin away from all his usual temptations in the suburban ghetto of Accra. He'd naively imagined that a stay in Kumasi could salvage something from the dereliction that they chose to label their 'relationship'. It would be an opportunity to talk about the future and if, somehow, they might have one together. But every time Black tried to articulate his feelings to his lover, it just sounded like accusation, blame. Perhaps silence was the only medium that would preserve the remnants of a paradise lost. Nevertheless, Black resolved to speak, to try one last time to convey his sense of disappointment and maybe turn things around.
"Why weren't you ever around in Accra, Austin? I came three thousand miles just to share your life; somehow, to be with you. But all I've discovered is another form of loneliness. Jesus, London was bad enough! You brought me to the 'zongo', the ghetto, but you were never there..." Austin turned to him, irritation furrowing his brow. Black tried to control his sense of indignation, but felt anger rising. The words flowed out of him; poison from a festering wound.
"You leave me cloistered in your family house. Meanwhile, in your life, there's always a new friend, a new face... a new something! Then you and him exchanging knowing looks... saying nothing. Then what? Within a week he's out of the frame forever. Never to be seen again and I'm left wondering what the fuck it was about? What happened? Then realisation dawns on me; he was rich, you were broke. What else is there to understand? And me? Well, maybe I'm paranoid? Maybe I judge you too much by your past. Are you surprised? Or perhaps I just know your true nature, Austin, but part of me refuses to believe it." "What do you want, Bertram? You think I should be with you always and never have friend?" "Yes, why the hell not? Don't ever have those kinds of 'friends' okay? Spend your whole damn life with me. Go on, I dare you! I'm sick of sharing you with all those other guys." "I'm free, Bertram. Or? You want to put me to be in a cage like your slave? Is that what it is?" Black's spiralling confusion conjured up bleak images of some monstrous colonial history. Austin began to assume the resonance of some abused possession; a victim of an unforgiven western exploitation. The cultural divide grew vast and unwieldy and Black was wracked with an irrational guilt. In his consciousness, he felt the onerous weight of some dreadful history beyond comprehension or reasoning. Love was just not enough. Money was not enough. Reality, however, threw its opportunist punch like a sparring heavyweight. "Austin, I can't cope with this prostitution! Aren't you better than that? Aren't you more than that? Isn't that the one and only real thing that enslaves you? I just don't know what to believe in anymore. I just don't know." Austin regarded him harshly, but then his fierce stare became tempered with some inexplicable pathos. "I... I love you... challey." The words hesitant; strangely sincere and heartfelt.
Black was not appeased. clichés cascaded from his mouth. Frustration he had expressed so many times before. Wasted words cast once more into the vacuum of space. "I'd hoped for so much more, Austin. I've wished sometimes that you could think above the mentality of the ghetto. You are so much better than the choices that you're making. Christ, for once in your life, why not just allow yourself to trust someone? Do you want me to promise you that I can take you away from it all? I can. I will. I swear it. I'm not like all those other guys that you tell me about; promising the earth just to take what they want from you..." "Bertram, I know that. You're so special. I promise I'll be good. I'll change okay?" The words rang hollow, failing to assuage Black's misgivings. He sighed, exasperated. They were going around in the same circles. The same pointless circles.
"You'll never change, Austin. You know that. I know that. It's how it is and how it will always be." Austin regarded his lover with cool, speculative eyes. "You know I love you deep down, Bertram. You're in me okay? Even though I do those thing." "Fuck you, Austin." Black whispered as his tears broke cover and traced their inexorable decent onto the pillow. Austin gathered his lover into his arms, smoothing the ravelled tresses of his hair. But they no longer offered Black any sanctuary.
Part 7 -- DESIRE SET FREE.
It was dark within the holding cell. Pitch dark. The heat, perpetual. Noises. Groans in the dark. Black now knew the true nature of men who were caged and in the absence of women. For some of them, it took days before they considered the alternatives. For others it took only hours...
Out of nowhere, a hand brushed against Black's knee, meandering gently upwards and settling on his thigh, brushing over it lingeringly. Such boldness was quite an aphrodisiac for Black. From the opposite side another hand glanced over his arm. Black quietly moaned his approval as it strayed over his chest, clumsily teasing and tweaking his nipples. Without warning, thick full lips were pressed to his. Hot breath; voracious, burgeoning with passion. Black began to loose himself as he was swept away in the deluge of pleasure, abandoning himself to the rich sensuous paradise that he had longed for. "Who do you like, white man? Who do you like make you happy?" The other voice murmured impatiently. "I like both of you." Black sighed, "You're both so nice. So very nice." From beyond the two inmates vying for Blacks attentions, there were furtive whispers. "Come. Nice white man, he likes it. Come, we share the food." There was a hoarse laugh. A sound of light footfalls as others entered the room. The owner of the first set of hands took Black by his and dragged him alongside. Black savoured the musky manly body that pressed against his. Something solid jabbed at his kidneys. "Ouch!" "This is for you. All for you Kwasi. Remove your underpant." "Okay, but not too rough, alright chally? A reassuring hand petted his tousled hair. "I will give it slowly okay? Now remove." The other hand tugged impatiently at Black's underpants. Black lifted his hips and slipped them off. His straining cock slapping back against his naval. He positioned himself flat on his back, drawing his legs wide in some audacious invitation. It was urgently accepted as strong hands clasped under his thighs and angled them upwards, pushing his legs right back. As narrow hips advanced between his thighs, Black felt the tip of something hard and burning pressing under his balls. The eager Ghanaian shifted slightly, angling his manhood down onto Black's hungry, quivering hole. It rubbed up and down at a gateway that was already moist with anticipation. Black hooked his shins around the mahogany smooth hips, urging the powerful, athletic African to bless him with his potent, masculine force. "You beg me for it, white man, you tell me you how much you want it." Black had never needed anything so badly. A need for release. A deep ravening desire for the consuming void inside him to be filled. As the burning cock teased and worried his entrance, Black realised it would assuage a heterosexual ego if he begged for that which his assailant already longed to provide. It was a means to an end. His rear end, in fact. "Okay, master. Please, I am begging okay? I need it. I need you to set me free." It was all the prompting that was needed. Black was burning hot and needed no forewarning. The shaft powered into him and brought with it the most exquisite rapture. Rhythmical explosions of pleasure slaked and saturated the desert of consciousness in a swelling torrent. His butt hole palpitated around the slick black prick that hurled him into the realms of some distant divinity. Black was vaguely aware that his 'master' was Islamic and was offering thanks to Allah for his impending sexual explosion. It came. He came. So abundantly that black felt his every jet of hot spunk as it exploded within him.
As Black's senses reeled, the next eager suitor ushered off the old; pinned him firm. Black was forgetting himself. He was reminded of his friend 'Andy' who spoke Arabic. Andy, who had been to an Egyptian sauna, a Hamam as they called it. All the men had jumped him. Naturally, Andy had offered no resistance. He had been fucked senseless.
Bertram pressed the naked flesh against his. Skin on skin. Sweating, potent. If things had been different, Black would have savoured the encounter, but they were ships in the night. Transactions of pleasure that were swiftly concluded. On either side of his mouth, steadfast appendages vied for his oral adoration. Meanwhile, the man on top of him was steadily forcing a rock hard dick against his tenderised hole.
No words had meaning or relevance. Bertram tried to accommodate the impatient cocks left and right as the huge voracious rod vigorously fucked him. It slammed into him so deeply that Bertram wondered if it might do him an injury. But he loved it. He could not see who was providing the pleasure, but it was truly magnificent. Succulent lips clasped on his as the cock shot its manly load deep into his recess. Bertram regretted the swift withdrawal, but discovered a renewed pleasure as he felt the arms and chest of the huge, muscle-bound hunk preparing to mount him.
There was a time when Bertram believed in love. At that moment, it seemed bizarre but true. However the succession of men that had entered him had opened alternative doors of perception. There were lips he would have chosen to kiss, but there were lips that desire led him to savour.
Bertram threw his legs around his new conquistador. He was potent, musky. A dynamo, filled with kinetic energy. He was an Ashanti warrior gorging on his prey. He slipped into Bertram's man pussy and took control. He pumped from on high as he gripped Bertram's thighs. He came in seconds. Bertram swam in the realisation that the man who was filling him with a fleeting sense of meaning was now filling him with his juice. He retracted suddenly, breathless as he sprayed the last ecstatic shot across Bertram's chest.
But there were more hungry men. Many more. For a moment, Black became alarmed that given the number of would-be lovers, he could quite easily end up with a butt hole like a truck tyre. But as pleasure swept him away, he realised that he was passed caring. He was drunk with passion, high on ecstasy. He was strung-out in a spinning cosmos of delirium.
The next man grabbed him roughly. They were all straight, but all desperate for his compliant hole. Bertram willingly gave it up yet again. The next frustrated guy took him aggressively. He unceremoniously forced a huge thick cock into Bertram. However as he drove the monster inside, he became strangely affectionate. "White man, you belong to me only." "I do?" "You are mine. Just mine. You're my wife." He whispered tenderly. Bertram was held in the breathless darkness as the man pumped him greedily. Somehow the words acquired a resonance and Bertram realised that the tall dark powerful warrior that impaled him could have been a special lover in another circumstance. Bertram began to wank himself, thrusting against the perfect ideal, the perfect slick length that had entered him. "I'm coming." He stifled as his tall, perfect man slammed into him, buttocks thrusting as he shot his hot load deep into the shuddering white arse. He withdrew quickly and Bertram felt profoundly lost.
It was not long before the steamy blackness consumed him. Bertram would have preferred to linger in the arms someone special, but there was nothing special to believe in. This was prison. This was the place that a person relinquished choice and became a pawn of circumstance.
There were already other guys fiddling with his well-serviced butt. They all wanted a piece of the action and Bertram felt need to come again. A desire that removed all remnants of inhibition.
There was already a more modest cock begging entrance into Bertram. By the sound of his voice, Bertram guessed that it was likely to be a young man in his twenties. However, his expertise seemed extensive. He knew exactly what he was doing as he poked and prodded, hitting the delightful spots of Bertram's innards with his rigid weapon. He started pounding, hungry as hell. Exploring a saturated cosmos with an enthusiastic prick. He came in minutes and grunted noisily as his thrusts subsided.
Black was beginning to feel like one of those female toads he had seen on 'Discovery' that becomes inundated with males during the mating season. He suspected, however that the only thing he might be spawning was another disaster, particularly if the guards took an interest in his nighttime antics.
Meanwhile the next fucker was eagerly pushing off the young guy. Black judged him an older man by the relaxed texture of his buttocks. The prick was the biggest yet, but only gently hard. This man kissed. Pressed his body against Bertram as if they were long lost lovers; joyous in their reunion.
Bertram felt his beard on his ravaged breasts as the old man whispered breathless promises in his ear. His experienced cock found it's mark and drove unrelentingly into him and it was joy. Black grabbed his thrusting buttocks as he drove his veined monster deep into his molten core. It was perfection and it was ecstasy. The old man panted as his experienced dick pumped its boiling eruption deep into the silky plunge pool.
There were still more men. There were still more cocks to be taken. Bertram lay on his back and occasionally thought of England. He lost count of the number of guys who fucked him like a bitch. He came once more. Then he came again. Then as the last frustrated cock injected its spunk into his swamped rectum, he shot off the last few frantically jerked-off drops. He was utterly drained and there was nothing left to know. In his final sleeping moments, he offered a prayer to an imaginary god for the providence of pleasure.
Part 8 -- LAWS OF KARMA.
"I've asked the guard to leave us alone today. There's a rather salient matter we need to discuss." Kurtz sat. Lit a cigarette, exhaling a billowing plume into the oppressive confines. Black seemed distant to him. But that was of no consequence. What he needed to say would not take long. Besides, his patience had finally run out. A crossroads had been reached in Black's fragile existence. He glared at his countryman with barely disguised loathing. "Listen Black, I'll be blunt with you. I'll be damned if you think I am going to stand by and let you harm British interests in this region with a lengthy, public legal battle. There's too much at stake here. Way too much. I'm telling you this for your own good. Make a full confession of murder and I'll ensure that you get a fair hearing in England. Fail to do so and well...I won't be answerable for the consequences." Black stared at Kurtz agog, disbelieving. The insinuation hung ominously in the prevailing gloom. Finally, Kurtz's composed mask of civility was slipping away, revealing a monstrous reality. "I would strongly advise that you cooperate, Mr Black. I'm telling you this as a personal courtesy. Time is running out. More specifically, Mr Black, your time is running out." He fixed Black with an imperious stare. His steely gaze lacked compassion or humanity. To Black, they seemed twin pinholes into some dismal bottomless pit. "Fuck you, Kurtz! Go to hell!" A mosquito buzzed and circled from some remote space. Black felt its bite; inevitable somehow on his bare shin. It seemed that the entire world was a kind of vampire, draining away life and hope. He shifted listlessly. Kurtz's smile was more of a grimace that exposed an ugly array of glittering teeth. "Clearly, there is little point in continuing this discussion. Never mind. I had hoped for a more amicable solution but that, as they say, is how the cookie crumbles." He sneered, belligerently. It was an expression that chilled Black's blood. "No matter." Kurtz hastened, almost incidentally. "I'll bid you good night Mr Black. I trust you'll sleep soundly tonight." Again, insinuation; thinly veiled threat. Black stood, eyeing the enemy, emboldened now in his knowing the true nature of things. In that instant, an idea acquired volition in his mind. In appearance, there was little separating the two of them. In another time, another circumstance, they could have been brothers. In that split second, his lightening fist struck Kurtz full square on the jaw, sending him reeling against the wall. His head rebounded from it with a satisfying thud.
Black was vaguely aware from his newly acquired Cartier watch that it had taken him just over four minutes to strip Kurtz of everything. His unconscious form was now adorned with the same soiled, counterfeit Polo boxer shorts that Black remembered buying from Hackney market one cool crisp winter afternoon in London. They seemed eminently befitting for someone such as Kurtz.
Black held his head high as he sauntered casually along the corridor. He was conscious now that image, demeanour and attitude would be the determinants of freedom. Aware that, by now, a different duty officer would have started his nightshift. Sure enough as he reached the counter he was regarded evenly. Black handed him a bundle of large denomination Cedi notes as he levelled with the desk.
"We've concluded business now. You can return the prisoner to the cell." The duty officer looked slightly quizzical, seemingly awaiting some further explanation. Black returned an arrogant stare. "He'll be receiving a visitor soon. Very soon, I dare say. He'll ask to see Mr Black in privacy. "Ah, okay. His lawyer?" Black could not prevent a sardonic smile creeping across his face. As one hand felt the reassuring profile of Kurtz's car keys and the other fingered his bloated wallet, his dour mood shifted imperceptibly. "Yes," came his sibilant reply, "It'll be his lawyer. Please ensure that they get absolute privacy, will you?" "Okay." Outside the decaying building, a glittering cityscape appeared engulfed by the encroaching night. Black paused, drinking in the blackness. His effigy had acquired new form; ersatz, devious, manipulative. He was now a carbon copy of the world that he had come to know.
Copyright Graham Collett 2007