This is a story, there will be sexual activity between a man and a teenage boy though it occurs in the context of a story about living in a fictitious African country, so there is no sex in the first chapter as I set the scene. It is of course fictional, homosexual activities being illegal in most African countries and the age of consent usually being 18 years, not 16 as in my own country. I did work in Africa, I did see a boy on whom Sammy's character is based, but the activities in the story are purely a product of my fertile imagination – I have enjoyed this fantasy for some time, and making time \and both hands available to write it down has not been easy. The usual restrictions apply – if it is illegal or offensive to read this, don't. This my first time to post a story, so comments welcome, flames will be ignored. Years ago I wrote a whole load 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. firstname.lastname@example.org (yes it's a zero in the middle). M/B oral mast.
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"
I am a white Brit in my forties and had lived and worked in the mid-African country of Zambula for some years. I never worked for well-funded organisations so I lived among the people, even when I was in the capital city Kairobilam, not in some white enclave. This enabled me to indulge in my favourite hobby - teenage boy watching. And the Zambulan boys were ... cute. Lots of variety, tall short, dark skinned, light skinned, lots of promising bulges in their nether regions, nicely shaped bums, and very often beautiful smiles.
The next door neighbour was Mr Kariam - wife seemed to have a new child about every year and I could never keep up. Strangely enough, I had noticed that the Kariam boys seemed to mature earlier than usual, some of them as young as ten years. I know it seems improbable, but I remembered when some of them were babies and knew their ages, and their heights indicated a lower age. From time to time I did wonder what effect that might have on them, but there was never any opportunity to find out, and really they were too young for me.
I had to leave Kairobilam for a couple of years - got a rare reasonably paid contract out in the sticks and was reluctant to give up the house which was in a mixed area and a reasonable price. I had a very reasonable landlord (hard to come by) so on explaining my predicament to Professor Sako he allowed me to sublet the house to someone else on a fixed term and certain legal stuff in the contract which meant my furniture stayed in the house and I keep some of my other stuff in the garage.
Well two years on and I was out of a job, house was waiting for me, but ideas change. I decided it really was time I was heading home, nice black boys not withstanding. I took the house up again for three months, paid up front and told the landlord I'd most likely head out before that and he could pocket the difference.
Well 15 years of doing small building work, much of it freelance, meant my garage was full up with a lot of useful stuff. I was finishing a house for an old friend who didn't have too much money and didn't mind second hand stuff, so some of it was going that way. But still there was a load of stuff to be disposed of before I could leave. I did not want Professor Sako having to open the gates after I had left and let in the hordes of people who (quite understandably given the endemic poverty) would take not only my left-over stuff but quite likely the fixtures and fittings too! No let's do this sensibly. I had some good neighbours who would be able to dispose of the stuff in their own way.
So I moved back in with Loradi, a young man I knew (who was at a loose end between education and hopefully more education) to keep house (and bed from time to time). But he had to keep going back home coz his mum was not well, so he was not always on hand to help me sort things out when I needed.
A couple of days after I moved back, Loradi was away, and as I was opening the gate to drive in I noticed a lad at Mr Kariam's who I did not remember ever seeing before. Oddly enough he greeted me in French. I'm not French, but I know a little so I greeted him back. Puzzling, as far as I knew Mr Kariam's family were all from Anglophone Zambula. I had been working on a project for refugees from a neighbouring francophone country, so my imagination was caught. And yes he seemed an attractive fellow, short, light skinned, nice smile, a regular sexy teen. Mr Kariam is a polygamist and has another wife in the village where he came form, so it was likely this boy's mother was the other wife.
Next day as I was walking out of the gate and down the shared driveway I met the young man in question again - he had been out collecting water -Mr Kariam's house was not yet connected to the mains and there were stand pipes judiciously located where attendants sold water by the jerrican to such households. So we greeted and I asked him his name and how come he knew French. So Sammy he was and he said he was learning French at school. He seemed to kind of like me. Well, yes they all like white people coz they smell money, but he seemed to be genuinely interested or curious, and told me he liked learning French, but rarely got a chance to practise it when away from school. And how old was he? Sammy turned 16 years last month he told me.
So there I was, Loradi was at his Mum's and I needed some help to shift some stuff around in the garage. Who should I ask for help? So next door I went, greeted Mrs Kariam who was sitting in the back yard with the latest baby while various other kids were running around or doing chores (mostly the girls). Sammy was not ion evidence, but I knew Mrs K would be happy to lend me a boy to help out, we had always got on well, exchanging food gifts at festivals, and helping out one way or another from time to time. But I didn't want any of the other teenage boys, for some reason they never attracted me and I got the impression they were into girls and besides it was usually the girls in the family who treated me as a human being, the older boys ignoring me after saying hello or equivalent in Sezambula language.
So I sat down on the chair I was offered and went through the usual greetings with Mrs K, how was the home, the family in the village, Mr K's work, giving her the opportunity to tell me he had done to visit his parents in the village (and the other wife I guessed), then kids coming and shaking hands, some shyly, some cheekily, and some merely politely. She asked me how was the packing and clearing up going and told me they would miss me. At that moment, the young brown boy, the object of my attention, came out of the back door and I greeted him in French. Grins from Mrs K and the other kids, not to mention Sammy. He sat down on a stool a few feet away and I took my chance.
“Mrs Kariam, Loradi has gone to check on his Mum, and I needed some help sorting things out in the garage, so I was wondering if Sammy is free and he could help me, and we could practise French as well?”
A look of interest from Sammy. You may wonder why I did not ask the boy direct, but in that culture young people living at home are not free to do as they wish and have chores to do around the home, so to muscle in and disturb the running of the home would not be polite. Mrs K responded:
"Yes, it's ok, but first he must go and collect water. Okizo – onenga tilega kadi", this last to Sammy, so now I know his Sezambula name is Okizo, the name given to a boy-child born after twins. So I thanked her, telling her I would give him lunch, then excused myself to get on with my sorting, while Sammy went off to collect the water.
I reckoned I would have 20 minutes to prepare, or rather, wait impatiently. It was not unusual to bolt the compound gates from the inside, even in daytime and I wanted to avoid the possibility of someone walking in while Sammy and I were working, so I made sure I bolted it when I went back in so I would have to go and open for him.
I opened one of the big garage doors and decided what work I could give Sammy to do when he arrived. Professor Sako had bought the house when it was unfinished and the garage was built on afterwards. It was at the end of the house and could be accessed from inside the house by a door from the bedroom corridor. However, because it is built on a hill the main house is about three feet higher, so the Proff's carpenter had constructed a little platform with narrow steps coming down either side, so as not to obstruct the parking of a car inside. One side of the steps had become part of my shelving but the top was still pretty clear. I pottered around moving things here and there, starting to sort them.
A metallic "knock knock" was heard on the gate and I went to answer it. There was Sammy Okizo, sweating a little from his exertions, it being a normal tropical African day. He was wearing a pair of baggy shorts, and a loose-fitting button up short-sleeved shirt held closed by just a couple of buttons. He smiled as we shook hands (as is always expected), and so did I. I felt a little jiggle of interest jump into my dick. "Entrer", I said and slid the bolt over on the small pedestrian gate. As is common, my gates were thin steel plate so you cannot see though them, and the walls were aboutseven feet high. I took him to the garage and showed him the boxes I wanted to sort out – the kind of things that should be neatly packaged together, which things could be loosely boxed for throwing away, etc. He seemed interested to learn about the various things associated with plumbing, electrics, etc.
It was not very heavy work, but it was a hot day and there was no through draught in the garage. As we were working, chatting in French and English, I stole glances at Sammy from time to time. Sometimes he grinned at me and sometimes I got a glimpse of the bulge in his shorts, which had a manageable effect on my own bulge as I concentrated mainly on the work. After about 30 minutes I entered the house through the corridor and collected from the fridge two large glasses of orange and passion fruit juice which Loradi had squeezed and diluted before he left that morning. A big smile erupted on Sammy's face as he said "Merci beaucoup" and came and took one while I put the other down on the wooden platform and squatted down to sit on it, dropping my legs over the front.
"Il fait chaud" I said as I unbuttoned my shirt.
"Vraiment" said Sammy as he leaned back on the wall opposite me and opened his own shirt; we watched each other as we drank. I could see a nice firm, hairless chest and tummy.