Tribal

The African night is never still. In the darkness, there is always movement and, death stalks the unwary. It is a time of heightened sensation when every nerve is alive. Something in our primitive past awakens us to the new environment, and the arousal of flight or fight is always akin to arousal of other kinds. In my hut on the outskirts of the village, I hear the sounds as they eb and flow into my sentience. I hear other sounds too. Several of the village are making love, some, unashamedly out in the small communal area where others watch, not for sexual stimulation, but of a celebration of life to come. I am aroused. They make love so uninhibitedly, and in ways that the western world still thinks of as adventurous or taboo. I peer through the rough curtain hanging over the entrance to my hut and see two couples. With one of them, she is on her back in the classic missionary position. She talks to him continually. The other couple, well, she is on all fours, but he is not in her vagina. I feel as if I am imposing myself. I reach between my legs, pushing my hand into the jogging bottoms I wear here at night. I start to touch my clit as their climaxes approach. Each man seems to come at the same time. They withdraw from their partners and point to their glistening erections. A murmer of satisfaction spreads through those watching. One woman squats, and urinates on the ground. It is then that I see him.

The Elder of the village is watching me intently. He beckons me forward and I leave the sanctuary of my hut. Some of the other men are erect now and watch me intently as I approach. Nothing is said. Somehow, even though I know so little of the language here, I know what it is that both of us want. Slowly, and totally unafraid, I undress. The sight of a naked white woman is alien to them and soon, many of the men and older boys have congregated around me, yet none approach. I lay on the hard packed earth, at one with nature. I spread my legs and start to masturbate. All around me, I see erections, yet a total understanding that this is my moment. I am so wet. My fingers dart inside me and a murmur rises from the tribe. It will be soon, I know, for both me and some of the men and boys who are now openly masturbating with me. Quite close to me I see Jamai. He is almost 15 and has the most intense eyes. He is breathing heavily and his erection is so hard it looks painful. I look at him and imagine him entering me. The mere thought is enough and my world shatters into splintered images of light and colour. It is truly strange how these people know what is permitted and what is not. Not one of them tries to touch me or make love to me, not that I would have, at that moment, objected. In my mind, I ache to have them cum on me. Jamai stands up and takes a pace towards me. He arches his back and sends a powerful jet of semen across my body. I run my hands through it rubbing it over my aching breasts and between my legs. Several, oh, who knows how many, of the other men stand and send their seed over me too. How long am I there? Hours? days? I do not know. I find myself back in my hut and the next day, I am treated with a level of affection and respect unattained so far. My translator tells me that I have shown the tribe great respect and that they were honoured with what I did last night. He doesnt understand, and I do not enlighten him. The next night, Jamai comes to me. He stands in my hut and I embrace him. That night, he becomes a man.