This is fiction, there will be sexual activity involving an older man, a younger man and a teenage boy occurring in the context of a story about a fictitious African country. Sexual activity may not occur in every chapter. Homosexual activities are illegal in most African countries and the age of consent is usually 18 years, not 16 as in the UK here. I did live and work in Africa, and I have based the characters of Adam and Solo on real people, but the erotic activities in the story are (so far) purely a product of my fertile fantasies. You might find some of the language I use a little quaint, but English is spoken slightly differently in Anglophone Africa and I have tended to replicate the way it is spoken there, unless it would cause confusion (or yet another explanation). Apart from that I'm English, innit! So friends from across the pond or down-under will think I'm quaint anyway! It is not unusual for African boys and young men to call any man who assists them "Dad" or "daddy" without realising what a turn-on that may be for some!

Readers may be surprised or disbelieving when they read of an African young man 22 years of age who is inexperienced in sexual matters. Believe me they exist, for whatever reasons. And those who get experience early are in plenty as well, though mostly with girls. As for us in the 'West', well I had not done much at that age myself, except for an ongoing and satisfying relationship with my own my right hand.

The usual restrictions apply – if it is illegal or offensive to read this, don't. Years ago I wrote a whole lot of stories about African boys and saved them on a floppy disk which became corrupted (haha), but with some encouragement I might try to resurrect one or two of them. Anyone waiting for more of Okizo (Gay/Adult-Youth June 19th)- there will be a couple more chapters, but at the moment that particular muse is inactive. Thanks for the kind and helpful comments I received on that series. Without those, I doubt if this would be here.

I have a hard job justifying to my friends (both straight and gay) even legal love and sex between an adult and a teen, they just don't see it; why can they not see how it was not at all unusual in centuries past and it is only legislation prompted by the effects of the industrial revolution that put a stop to it? Why are they hung up on age differences? Any comments and discussions on this and feedback on the stories welcome to (it's a zero in the middle). Flames will be ignored.

Thanks very much to Adrian for proof-reading and helpful suggestions. I am the author, you are not permitted to publish this elsewhere without asking me, though you may quote a sentence or two if you give credit and link.

Cheers, "Wet Blanket"

M/B oral mast frott.

Adam from Zimbali, Chapter One

I met Adam Kuluonjwa from Zimbali on the internet. Something about him quickly convinced me that here was someone genuine with whom I could have a friendship, even though unequal. He was clearly in great need since his parents died near the end of the civil war, but it seemed more important to him to have someone who could respond to his need for friendship and perhaps guidance than to send him money. His elder brother had gone off to the mines and rarely sent any money back to Adam who lived with his younger brother Solo. Adam was 17 and needed to finish secondary school and Solo was 9 years old and had managed two years of primary school when the funds dried up. There had been a sister in between them who died when Solo was small. In the end I did offer to help, the only people I have ever done that for who I had not met. My funds were limited but enough to send them school and later university fees, though they still struggled for food at times.

We sometimes went on webcam and though Adam's face was no big deal, not a classic cute teenage boy face, nevertheless the friendship we shared meant that I was attracted to him and often fantasised about what we might do if we met some day. But Adam seemed set on his studies and never responded to my hints about sexual things.

Time came five years later when Adam graduated from University with a bachelor's degree in Social Sciences and Social Administration; my finances had improved a little so I decided now was the time to visit Zimbali. Graduation day is a big occasion in such places. Ad's university was in the second city Kinsha, in the middle of the country. When Adam began at the uni, he managed to get a room to share with Solo who was duly enrolled in the nearby university primary school. Solo had now just completed primary school. Though I hoped to have a proper visit to the capital, as well as a coastal resort, Kinsha must be my destination. It is not a popular tourist place, so not too expensive to find a place to stay.

But still, with graduation coming up, it's just as well we booked early. Between my internet searching and Ad's legwork, we had managed to find a basic two room furnished apartment for a reasonable rate and rented it for the two weeks around the day of the graduation ceremony. Well of course I had only Adam's description but it seemed ok, with a double bed in one room and chairs, sofa and spare mattress in the other. I persuaded Ad that he and Solo could come and stay with me there "to look after me", suggesting they could have the double bed and I would have the mattress though he seemed uncertain of this, thinking that the visitor should use the bed. I sure hoped he could be persuaded into some sexual activity, however the sleeping arrangements would be finalised.

The events of my early morning bus journey from the Capital (where I flew in) up to Kinsha make a whole story of their own, the familiar African-boy eye-candy leading to sweet nothing being just a small part of it, so I will not bore the anxious reader with those details.

Meeting Adam and Solo for the first time in the flesh was inevitably an emotional event, though we tried not to make too much of a scene at the bus terminal. A pair of nice young males, now 22 and 14 years respectively. We found a cab, Adam negotiated with the "pilot" to take us to the apartment and off we set, my luggage in the boot and the three of us in the back seat. I had transferred some money for a down payment on the rent some weeks before, so Ad had been able to collect the key and the owner had agreed we could pay the balance the next day once I was settled in. It was past time for lunch and I was famished, and it seemed to be the same of my two young Africans, though they tried hard not to say so. We agreed to dump the luggage, have a quick wash, and then go out to find something to eat, and do some shopping on the way back.

We found the place more or less as described, certainly nothing special and needing a lick of paint, but clean with folded clean sheets ready for our use. It was in the ground floor of a purpose built three-storey building, about 40 years old and down a side road in a small walled compound in the midst of similar others, so there was reasonable privacy. (I can usually cope with my white skin being the object of scrutinisation by people of various ages when I am out and about, but once I am in "my own house" my English desire for privacy kicks in). I tested the double bed and found it too soft for my back, but I figured the spare mattress on the floor of the main room would be good for me. The locks seemed adequate, too and there was water in the taps, so we were soon ready to venture out into the afternoon tropical heat, me with clean clothes.

Adam felt strongly that I should not spend too much money (from his perspective), but I was not yet ready to sample the very cheap and basic student fare, so we found a small restaurant which provided us with cow's liver in a sauce with rice for a very reasonable price in my view. Not being sure of the quality of water used in making unpackaged juices, I decided to pass by those for the time being and go for a bottled soda, in fact we all had them. We spent the time chatting and getting to know one another via real face-to-face conversation. Both of them were a little shy, especially Solo, though he had seem me on webcam.

Back to the apartment via a rather small supermarket and a couple of other shops, with some fresh fruit and veg from vendors sitting on a street corner. I decided the no doubt colourful and interesting main market would have to wait for another day as I did not want to travel back into the centre of town, rather I wanted to get back and have a kip so as to be ready for any activity the evening may offer. We also bought some chilled drinking water in the now-inevitable plastic bottles, some bottled beer and a couple of sodas, having to haggle over the deposit on the returnable empties for these.

So, after finding places in the fridge and cupboards for our goodies, Adam and Solo went off to collect some clothes from their small room which I would no doubt soon have an opportunity to see, I changed into a pair of shorts and a tee shirt and lay down on the sofa with a pillow and put my feet up on the arm at the other end. Travelling takes its toll on me these days. I was in my 20s when I first went to Africa, but I can't do in my 50s the things I could do then. Well, there are some things I can still do, even if not as often.

After a couple of hours I was feeling a bit refreshed, having had a shower and rested. Adam and Solo were back and had made some freshly squeezed orange and passion fruit juice topped up with cold water from the fridge, so we went and sat on the front verandah for our sundowners, with some small ripe bananas. The place was designed so that it was not overlooked by other residents using the main entrance, and the buildings on the other side of the road were single storey, so we were private enough and had a view of the distant mountains through the gaps in buildings further away. Ad and I sat on a two seater wood and reed chair and Solo on the single one. I was natural for me to drop my arm onto Ad's shoulders as we relaxed and he seemed cool with it. He and Solo had also showered and changed into shorts and tee shirts and I have to say that both of them looked very sexy in their tightish tee shirts and their smooth legs showing. Oops, I mean Adam did ... In some African countries, Zimbali included, it doesn't do at all to walk around in shorts in public unless you are a school boy or a labourer at work. I always wear a shirt with a collar in the sun to protect my neck.

As dusk quickly became night we went in and began to cook our evening meal on the stove, connected to a butane gas cylinder. We had bought some frozen minced beef at the supermarket and left it out to thaw so we cooked that and some rice. I let Ad do the rice, I find you need to get used to cooking different kinds of rice and I didn't want to be the cause of something less than enjoyable. I took charge of the mince with Solo chopping good quantities of onions and tomatoes, adding some local oyster mushrooms, ground black pepper and a small spoonful of the ubiquitous curry powder, plus less salt than the boys would have wished. After 20 minutes of simmering all was ready and we sat down to a relaxed meal. I topped mine with cheese, but the boys were not keen on that idea. They did the washing up while I wrote my diary. Then we sat down in the sitting room with beers for Adam and me, and a soda for Solo. Somehow by accident or design we all three gravitated towards the sofa and sat down with me in the middle. Naturally my hands were affectionate to both of them, a squeeze of the hand, a brief touch on the leg, a brief hug over the shoulders – mostly in Adam's direction, Solo was only 14 after all and I did not want to get too affectionate, not beyond what was normal and justifiable though no doubt deserved.

Solo was obviously very tired from the excitement of the day, plus all the walking around and helping to carry the shopping, so we got the double bed made up and the mattress in the sitting room opposite the door, behind the sofa, and he said good night and went to bed.

"Another beer, Ad?"

"yes please, daddy, and you?"

"yeah" I said, and Adam went and got them from the fridge.

Chapter Two follows very soon!