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Discussion in 'Fictitious Stories' started by chrisrobin, May 21, 2019.

  1. chrisrobin

    chrisrobin Worshipped Member

    Sep 1, 2016
    Likes Received:
    Bournemouth (GB)
    I had picked the sleeping quarters for myself as much out of romantic visions as for practicality.
    It was a thatched Roundel - I think that's how you spell it - right at the edge of the small group of similar huts. White washed walls, simple bed and interior walls all round. No straight walls to put furniture against, a bonus for quaintness and taking things for what they were. So a bed, two chairs, wardrobe and chest of drawers and a fridge.
    I almost felt like an explorer even though it was fitted with lights and a telephone and the luxury of being en-suite.

    Following a banquet of excellent food from the vast buffet I sat outside on the terrace and looked at the stars. In this part of the world it gets dark early and quickly, it really does fall like a soft black cloak. Air balmy and scented from unknown plants and shrubs.
    Sipping a cool beer it was easy to imagine this as paradise.
    The dining room had gone quiet, the other guests either in the bar or on their way to bed ready for an early start. The staff flitted silently about clearing away the remnants of dinner and setting up for the morning. I watched them, lithe, deliberate and somehow unhurried and yet at the same time speedy.
    The waiter from my table woke me from my dreaming "another drink sir, anything else you require" I ordered a couple more beers to be delivered to my quarters and one for now. And there it was at my elbow, creamy head, cool, sparkling while the waiter grinned his luminous smile.

    I wandered back slowly once the beer had gone, past exotic blooms, down the path to the boundary fence - to keep marauders out as much as wild animals I was told. Out there, if I was very quiet, I could hear noises of beast - or maybe I had a strong imagination.
    Africa was a very strange place to be, the towns and cities vibrant and throbbing with undercurrents, the countryside, small towns and villages almost unchanged apart from coping with the influx of tourists like me.
    I opened the door to villa 68, sat on the bed, took my shoes off and could feel the need for a shower, then a beer, dam, where was it?
    But the shower won. I enjoyed the warm water running over my naked body, enjoyed the cold as I changed the temperature and felt refreshed and relaxed, laid out naked on the bed, enjoying the book, feeling content after a very good day.

    Suddenly he was there, my waiter seemed to materialize in the hut, now changed out of uniform, just a pair of shorts that fitted to well and a singlet.
    "Sorry sir to have been so long but I almost forgot" , and in he came ignoring my nakedness as if all his guests hung about naked and in need of beers. He got a glass, opened a beer and poured it for me, put it on the bedside table, his body so close to me I could smell his musky scent, almost face to face with his middle regions. The shorts were old and well used, tight round his butt showing a curvaceous pair of buttocks, the once ivory colored satin fabric with a sheen to set of his ebony skin. As he straightened up it was obvious that either the lining had been removed from the shorts or never there, I could see his genitals outlined, his balls pulled over on the right and his obviously uncut cock lying down his left leg - and I imagined he had a curly bush to complete the perfect set. I had to move, cover myself, I was feeling, well, randy and this vision of temptation. I crooked my leg up hoping to cover the beginnings of an erection, found a towel and sort of pulled it over my middle.
    studiomg and william1 like this.
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