African Adventure - 1. Chapter 1 - Return to Zimbabwe

I had been born in Rhodesia, as Zimbabwe had been called before independence, and lived there for twelve happy years until my parents emigrated to the UK shortly after independence. It had taken me some time to adjust to a new country with a colder wetter climate and I had never quite got the country of my birth out of my system.

It was natural then when deciding what to do in my gap year between high school and university to visit Zimbabwe to see old boyhood friends and revisits the places of my youth. The British pound goes a long way in Africa and so I set out with my life’s savings topped up by a generous amount from my parents on an open return air ticket on the journey of a lifetime.

My father, an accountant, had sat with me for hours in preparation explaining to me how to budget for the trip, how be careful not to overspend on accommodation and transport, how to use travellers cheques and how to protect the three vital items being your passport, your air ticket and your money. By the time I left I was armed with triplicate lists travellers cheque numbers, all the contact details of the British Embassies and Consulates in southern and central Africa and the details of banks and their branches which had commercial ties with his bank in the UK. I was pretty well prepared.

The month I spent in Zimbabwe was a disappointment. The magic of the country had gone as I no longer identified with it. Even driving past the house where I grew up did nothing for me. My old school the same. Worse my old childhood friends had also grown up and I found we were now so far apart that we had little in common. I realised I was in fact closing a chapter of my life with this visit and now must move on.

By chance the high point of my visit had been when making a courtesy visit to good friends of my parents I was introduced to their son who I hardly remembered who it turned out shared my interest in tropical fish. What followed then was my first deviation from my planned itinerary to stay with them for three days to learn about his aquarium and the fish he kept and visit the other members of the local club to see and learn about what they were doing. I was thrilled at the opportunity and what I learned as the majority also specialised in my favourites the Malawi Cichlid fish which comprised a bewildering range of brightly coloured small tropical fish.

James whose room I shared for my stay was a year younger than me but seemed quite precocious and worldly. He was by all accounts a good student with interests in the natural sciences and little interest in sports. Apart form his interest in tropical fish he was an avid bird watcher and was a member of his school and also local community bird club. He had the tan to go with his outdoor activities which differed from your normal beach tan in that his lower legs from where his knee length shorts ended to his ankles where his hiking boots began were tanned. His upper body was tanned only where his arms protruded from his shirt and on the vee on his upper chest and his neck and face where they were not fully protected by the universal floppy hat worn by everyone as protection from the burning African sun.

I mention James only that it was on his advice that I ventured to Lake Malawi in search of the Malawi Cichlid in its natural environment and that it was he who reawakened the long suppressed feelings of physical attraction I had felt for other boys for as long as I could remember.

“If you are really interested in Malawi Cichlids,” he told me, “you should go to Hippo Bay on Lake Malawi.”

“What happens there?” I asked.

“Well there is this rather interesting guy who lives there on a boat doing research and stuff. He has built and runs a Cichlid aquarium there, which is of a pretty high standard. He used to work here in the Rhodesia days for the Department of Parks and Wildlife where he got caught up in the Bush War and made quite a name for himself as a tracker. I believe he was a pretty brutal bloke and got wounded once and got some bravery medal.”

“Sounds like an interesting guy.”

“Yes, I met him in Malawi last year on a family holiday. We stayed for two nights and hired a local boat to take us out snorkelling. The bird life is also great there by the way. He came in from his boat to have a few drinks and seemed a very nice guy. He had a long chat to my parents about birds and fish and what little game there still was in the area. I just couldn’t take my eyes off him.”

“He looks like a handsome version of Hemingway. A full beard and long hair in a ponytail and he moved like a wild cat. I could just imagine him in the Bush War tracking the guerrillas. And those eyes, my God those eyes, green and constantly alert yet at the same time soft and deep, do you know what I mean.”

I nodded though I didn’t.

“Looked at me a few times and when he looked into my eyes it was like I got shot by a stun gun or something. I still shake when I think of it.” James paused, obviously reliving the moment. “Then you know what happened?”

“Tell me.”

“Well later I went to fetch some drinks from the bar and he was there alone chatting to the barman. So I was next to him and when the barman went to fetch the order so he says to me, ‘How old are you James?’, sixteen and a half I replied, then his says straight out, ‘That’s a pity, because if you were eighteen I would invite you out to my boat so I could fuck your brains out,’ no kidding, he said it just like that.”

“So what did you do?”

“What could I do, I was stunned. I mean I had fooled around with some of my school mates before, you know wanking each other and sucking each other, but men fucking is a very queer thing to do isn’t it?”

“You had guys suck your cock before?” I asked incredulously.

“Of course, in boarding school we sucked each other off all the time,” he paused, “you were never in boarding school then?”

I shook my head. He laughed.

“OK, now I understand your surprise.”

“Would you let him fuck you?” I asked.

“Right now if I think about it probably not but then he had me in a spell, you know what I mean, if I saw him again and he had the same effect on me I probably would go to his boat and let him fuck my brains out.” He laughed. “Amazing guy.”

“Any way time for a shower before supper, I’ll go first because I need to set the water temperature right, and you can follow me right in, OK”

“OK,” I replied and watched as he threw off his T-shirt and dropped his shorts and underpants. His cock was small and there was skin bunched up behind the head.

“Get ready I won’t be long,” he said as he stepped into the shower.

I stripped down to my underpants and sat waiting on the bed. I thought about James, I thought about his boarding school antics and felt myself getting hard. I forced myself to look at and concentrate on his fishtank.

James pulled the shower curtain back and called, “OK finished, jump in.”

I stood, dropped my underpants and noticed to my surprise that James coming out of the shower was semi erect.

“Now that looks different to when you went in.” I said nodding towards his cock.

I slipped past him and into the shower trying to hide my growing arousal.

James noticed it, “Can I help you with that?”

He took my silence as acceptance and joined me in the shower.

Well thanks to James, I broke my duck. I received my first blow job and blew my first guy. The blowjob was good and I came quickly but James had to warn me twice to mind my teeth and I couldn’t bring him off so he asked me to finish him by hand, which I did.

We towelled off and dressed. James went to see when supper would be ready and I sat on the bed. I wanted to cry, ‘So Charlie boy you really are a fucking queer after all,’ I thought to myself. I was disgusted with myself not for any other reason than I had enjoyed it. I experienced the conflicting feelings of guilt and joy, of disgust and liberation. My head was spinning.

“Don’t worry Charlie, you’ll get over it,” James had returned, “thirty minutes to supper, what shall we do? Another shower?” he laughed out loud.

I laughed too. I wanted to hug him but instead I just fell back on the bed and laughed until I cried.

I felt James’ body on top of mine.

“Careful Charlie, if you lie like that with your legs open I’ll read it as an invitation to take you out to my boat and fuck your brains out,” deepening his voice for the last part for effect.

I pushed him off and sat up. I was laughing again now and the tears of relief were running down my cheeks.

At dinner we discussed the best options for me to get to Malawi and Hippo Bay using public transport and I was thankful that they had recently travelled there themselves and were pretty much up to date. James made me promise to write to him saying that he really wanted to travel there when he finished school the next year and try to get some holiday work there. He also made his parents promise to write to the local Hemingway to that effect.

I had two other families to visit before I could leave for Malawi so it was a few days before I returned to spend my last night in Zimbabwe with James and his family.

James’ mother served a grand dinner of roast beef, Yorkshire Pudding and roast potatoes and insisted that I eat more than my fill because as she said, ‘We don’t know when you will get your next square meal.’ It was a wonderful evening spent with a family I was growing increasingly fond of who made my last meal in Zimbabwe one to remember.

The evening ended fittingly when James after making his camp bed look slept in climbed into bed with me and naked and still perhaps uninhibited by all the beer and wine consumed during the evening we held each other close and kissed. It was the first time for me and another milestone in my sexual evolution. The climax came when he rolling on top of me and placing his cock between my closed thighs slowly began to hump. I came first on my stomach and pulled him hard against me in the process brought him off. We lay still like that for a while before slowly rolling over to one side when still holding each other tight we drifted off to sleep.

The next morning I was dropped off at the bus depot armed with sandwiches and bottled water for the journey. My good-byes and thank-yous were sincere and genuine and I had to resist the temptation to hug James and just settle for a manly handshake and a promise to write.

The City-to-City bus service provided a comfortable bus with onboard toilet facilities, movies with snack and soft drink service. The actual driving time would be seven hours but with two borders to pass through that could well end up as a ten hour journey. I was told that the Zimbabwe/Mocambique and the Mocambique/Malawi border posts were likely to be nightmares and that a book and a healthy supply of patience would be necessary. I was armed with the book ‘Konings' Book of Cichlids and All the Other Fishes of Lake Malawi’ I had purchased through James’ fish club and the sandwiches and bottled water from James’ family and was ready to make the most of it.

The journey took all of ten hours and it was already dark when the bus arrived at the Blantyre bus depot. I was exhausted but first checked the departure time for the local bus to the Lakeshore before checking into the backpackers lodge across the road from the bus depot. The cheapest accommodation was in the dormitory and I took it gladly and after a quick shower and a cheap meal I hit the sack to be up early and ready for the bus trip in the morning.