The Private Journal of Dr. Alexander MacAfee
Part 1
by Bald Hairy Man
This is an adult gay story intended for adult gay men. If you are offended by this or are not an adult, gay or a man, DON'T READ IT. It has a lot of sex between adult men, many of whom are older, hairy, bearded, and in this case of several different races. If this offends you, DON'T READ IT. If you have any comments send them to bldhrymn@aol.com or bldhrymn@yahoo.com.
When I saw the steamer, the Augusta, in April of 1888, I had a sense of foreboding. Even in the bustle and confusion of Calcutta's harbor, it was unimpressive. The steamer that brought me from England had been a modern ship. Unfortunately, a storm at the Cape of Good Hope had delayed us and the connecting steamer to New South Wales had sailed.
The ship was unimpressive, but shone in comparison to the Captain and his crew. Captain Hargrove had a stern eye, but reeked of Gin. As I boarded the ship at 9:00 in the morning, I took this as a bad sign. My cabin was small, hot and smelled of its previous occupant. It was none too clean either. There were few passengers, a Methodist Missionary, Herbert Jones and his mousy wife; Bill Smith, a young engineer going to Australia, and an Anglican priest, William Williams, and his mousy wife.
In the motley group, I stood out. I was going to Sydney to assume the Chair of the Philosophy Department of a newly established University there. No one cared about that at all, but I happened to be 6'-6" tall, and am a muscular man, with prematurely white hair and a bushy beard, which makes me look like the Spirit of Christmas Past in Mr. Dickens' novel.
When I say I stand out, it is simply a statement of physical reality.
My academic career has been distinguished, but unorthodox. The general description was "brilliant, but undisciplined." The curse of my career is my belief in the value of intellectual and scientific investigation. I feel that such investigations free us from irrational fears and terrors and liberates us from vile superstition. My study on the worship of Mithras in the Roman Empire made it necessary to leave England and take a position in Australia.
Mithras was an ancient deity who was born on the 25th of December of a virgin in a cave and had 12 followers, was unjustly murdered and rose again from the dead. I stated, it was obvious that large portions of the Mithras story was integrated into the life of Christ at an early date. I was actually told it was the other way around, even though the worship of Mithras pre-dated Christ by centuries, if not a millennium.
Thus I was on my way to Sydney. My fellow passengers were unlikely to be receptive to my intellectual interests, so I had little hope the voyage would be anything but long and hot.
If anything I misjudged the situation. One of the streamer's boilers failed and our pace went from being slow, to glacial. The heat was inhumane, and made worse by the Methodist couple's sense of propriety. The Captain too was oddly formal. In his drunken stupor, he must have fantasized he was on a great ship. They insisted we dress for meals and would brook no informalities. For two weeks we had to wear coats and ties in the steamy dining area of the Augusta.
While some accused me of being religiously unorthodox, I always have believed in a just and merciful God. When the Methodist Minister collapsed of heat prostration and they took to their cabin, I saw God's judgement. The Anglican Minister's wife similarly stopped going to diner and the atmosphere in the dining room relaxed considerably; the Captain required coats be worn to the room, but not during the meal.
One of the crew members, a strapping fellow named Ransom, told me of a place near the bow, where it was possible to strip nearly naked outside of the view of the ladies and the Captain too. Ransom was a redheaded Irishman, short, stocky and massive.
"If you don't mind being with the crew, there's a good breeze there." Ransom explained. I went there and it was all he said it was. The ship was an old one, but had been modified by adding another deck. This was a portion of the original deck, which hadn't been roofed over. As the ship moved forward the movement created a breeze in this small area. We were heading east, so the area was sunny in the morning, but in full shade after noon, the hottest part of the day. I became a habitual visitor to the secret deck.
At first I wore a shirt and trousers, but most of the crew simply wore under shorts or tied a rag around their privates. There was an Australian Aborigine, who was a cabin boy, porter. He stripped naked and no one gave it a thought. As the weeks dragged on, we all began to understand the Aborigine's nudity. They called him Dyack, but he hated this. He wasn't a Dyack; he was from another tribe. He spoke some English and I found out his real name. It was unpronounceable, but we arrived at Pongo as a respectable and acceptable substitute.
I got the crew to call him by this name and Pongo regarded me with great respect. He had looked on me with considerable concern at first. I realized he had never seen anyone as big as me and when he discovered I was mortal, polite and liked him, he became very helpful.
Both Ransom and Pongo stood out from the rest of the crew. Most of these men were the dregs of society; toothless, consumed by drink and tobacco. Ransom was a ruddy, healthy, bear-like man. The crew called him Red. On the cool lower deck, I discovered the red hair covered most of his body. Pongo was dark skinned, very muscular, almost a Black Hercules. His eyes and teeth were white, but the rest of him was dark and covered in curly black hair. He was not a handsome man by any conventional standard of beauty, but I suspected among his own people he was considered handsome.
We were steaming across the north coast of Australia when the remaining engine began to act oddly. I woke one morning to find the ship completely becalmed. The air was thick and uncomfortable. By noon, the sky had clouded over; a wind began to blow and gather in strength. I don't know much about ships, but being unable to maneuver the ship in bad winds was not good.
By three in the afternoon, we were in a fulled-fledged typhoon. By the next morning, it was clear to me unless the winds stopped the ship was lost.
There was no order to abandon ship. The Captain had washed overboard sometime during the night. The crew was nowhere to be found, except for Ransom and Pongo. The lifeboats were gone too. At the time it struck me as a disaster, but not one of the lifeboats was ever found, so it may have been a blessing in disguise.
Smith, the engineer, suggested we make a raft, so we ripped up the wood paneling and used the massive dining room table as the floor of a raft. Ransom, Pongo, the Anglican Priest, Williams and I built the raft. The Methodists were too sick with fear to be of help. Mrs. Williams was pregnant as it turned out and couldn't help.
There was a lull in the storm, which we used to launch the raft. The Methodists thought the storm was over. Ransom said, we were in the eye. He was right. Remarkably we all survived the first night and the next day. The storm finally abated two days later.
It wasn't a good situation. We had no idea where we were. There was nothing to indicate land was near by, and our raft had no means of propulsion. Mrs. Williams gave up her dress and most of her petticoats to provide some shelter from the sun. Mrs. Williams was not in good shape, but she was a gallant woman and never complained. She did everything possible to help our situation. She was the first to die. We said a prayer, then put her over the side. The Rev. Mr. Williams was in shock and wanted to keep her body on the boat. I asked him if he had seen the famous French painting, "the Raft of the Medusa." He had heard of it. It was of a raft of survivors of a shipwreck who resorted to cannibalism.
Williams understood. Rev. Jones didn't. He died the next day. Mrs. Jones was as unhelpful as a single person could be. She whined and cried and did nothing that even remotely could be considered useful.
Ransom, Pongo and I had been in the sun on the rear deck of the Augusta. Neither Rev. Williams nor Mrs. Jones had been exposed to the sun. Mrs. Jones's face and arms got badly burned. Williams had the same problem, but bore it well.
We had no water and little food and after three days the situation was bad. I heard a strange noise. At first I thought it was an engine, but Pongo figured out what it was first. It was the chanting of warriors. We were soon captured by a fierce group of painted aboriginals. We were all tied up to poles, loaded into their war canoes and carried off. Mrs. Jones was carried in one boat and we never saw her again. The men were paced in two canoes.
We traveled for two days and landed on a sandy beach. Much to our surprise and even more to the surprise of the tribesmen, when we landed the Engineer was gone. Bill was a very resourceful man and I hoped he could get to civilization and send help. I had to admit, I assumed we were to be sacrificed and eaten. We were left on the beach for a while as the tribesmen vanished into the jungle. There was a huge din somewhere nearby and our captors reappeared, jumped in their boats and raced away.
A second group of aborigines appeared a few minutes later. They were from a different tribe. Like the first, they were painted and wore massive headdresses. Unlike the first group, they were otherwise completely naked. They also carried the heads of some of the first group, attached to a string, tied around their waists. Several had the severed genitals of the vanquished. They looked at us with great interest, talking, dancing and gesturing.
Pongo started to talk in their language. I didn't get the impression they could understand him completely, but they did understand some things he said. A big, bearded man yelled something and the men lifted up the poles we were tied to and ran into the jungle. It was a long and bumpy ride. Eventually we reached a village and we were dumped in a central area.
Soon, hundreds of the tribesmen gathered around us. Some were warriors; others weren't covered in war paint. Several looked a bit like Pongo and I hoped they were kinsmen of some sort. They brought in several wounded men. They were of the vanquished tribe and they were beheaded. It looked as if this was going to be a very bad day.
A group of white haired, bearded men looked us over. Pongo talked to them. They cut him free and we were carried into a big thatched building. They cut us free and cut off all of our clothes. None of them wore any clothes. They tied our hands and strung the bonds over the roof timbers. We stood naked in the hut.
"There are no women here, that's good." Ransom said.
"Why is that?"
"The women do the torturing in most of these tribes." he said. "They killed those prisoners neat and easy. We'll be lucky if we go that easily." I looked at Williams. He was just staring into space. I think he was in shock. That might be for the best too, I thought.
"We don't have a chance do we?" I asked.
"A thousand to one, I would guess." Ransom said. "I don't know what Pongo is doing. He might be able to save us." He took a long look at me for the first time.
"You're hung like a fucking horse!" he exclaimed. "You'd have won the first prize in the Crystal Palace cock contest. "By Appointment to Her Majesty Queen Victoria," You'd have made her forget Prince Albert."
It is strange, but here I was about to meet my maker and someone notices my cock. I knew it was big, but it hadn't been real useful for me. I was unmarried and not given to associating with loose women. I worked at a University and men didn't mention such things. Looking at Ransom, I saw he was well endowed too. I might have been mistaken, but I thought his cock was partially erect.
I was shocked when I realized it was my cock causing the erection. Even worse, I realized my cock was firming up a bit. Just then a bunch of warriors came with clubs and knives. They cut us down and forced us back into the central area again. As we went out, my cock just got harder and harder.
There was an incredible din of yelling, chanting and screaming outside in the sun filled square. The warriors took us to the middle of the square, then ran back and joined the crowd. We stood completely naked and fully erect in the middle of a hundred or more men. Suddenly, there was stunned silence.
Looking back, it is stupid to say what I thought at the time. As a virtuous, levelheaded Englishman of my era, I assumed they were shocked at our nudity. I looked around and realized every single one of them was nude. Several of the older, white haired men walked forward very slowly.
I wondered if they were going to kill us now. Being erect in public had to be an abomination, or at very least a scandal. Certainly, we were cursed and doomed. I had joked for years, I always stood out in a crowd and never as much as now. No one in England guessed or suspected my cock was the size it is. Now it was rock hard and drooling in front of hundreds of tribesmen. A drip of something escaped from my cock and fell to the ground connected to my cock by a filament of my genital fluids.
I said to myself, die like a man. I looked the big man at the center of the group in the eye. He was staring at my cock. I looked down his body and saw his cock was erect too. He was the biggest of the men and must have been 5' 5 or 5'-6". His big, white beard was similar to mine.
He knelt down in front of me. He leaned toward me and licked my cock, drool and all. I don't know what happened, but I had an orgasm. I had never shot off like that before in my life. If my balls could have fit through the piss tunnel, they'd have shot out too. I couldn't stop shooting. I looked down at he poor man.
He was covered in my sperm. His face, his beard, his chest, his gut, all were splattered with my cum. Some was sitting on the curly white hair that covered his chest, some was running down his body like rain. Some reached his pubic hair; some dripped onto his cock.
He stood. I assumed he would kill me now. He looked up at my face. I looked at him. I saw awe in his eyes. It was as if he had discovered the Holy Grail. He was close to me and his cock touched mine. I reached down and stroked his bloated member. A second later, I felt the splatter of his man seed against my body. Now I was drenched in his seed.
A huge glob of his cum hit the center of my chest and sat on my thick mat of chest hair. I collected it on a finger, lifted it to my mouth and ate it. He looked at me with fear in his eyes. I smiled at him and nodded. He looked relieved.
He turned away from me and shouted something to the crowd. They began chanting again. But this time it was a quiet and peaceful chant. It struck me it was halfway between a love song and a hymn. He motioned for me to follow him. I put my arms around Ransom and Williams and we all walked toward the building that turned out to be the Chieftain's lodge. I didn't want anything to happen to either of the men and assumed being close to me was a good thing for them.
Inside it was dark and almost cool. In the middle of the lodge to the rear was another house. It was identical to the lodge, but in miniature. The chieftain proceeded to the house and opened the thatched door. He reached in and brought out a statue of a man. It was about three feet high and rudimentary from an anatomical point of view. The face on the top was painted pink, with bright blue eyes. The body was schematic except for the genitals, which were carved in great detail. There was absolutely no question; the statue sported a half size carving of my cock and balls.
"Holy shit!" Ransom said. "You are the Great White God."