Safari
 by: Hankster

© 2020 by the author

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

hankster@tickiestories.us

Prologue

In order for you, dear reader, to fully grasp my story, I must start by telling you all about me, and filling you in on my background.  Please bear with me.  Thank you, in advance.

The most important thing for you to know is that I’m gay.  If I weren’t gay, there’d be no story at all.  My name is kind of nerdy.  It’s Norbert Smith, Jr.  As you can imagine, I despise the name, and I have successfully gotten anyone who knows me to call me Norm.  Most people think that my name is Norman.  I don’t correct them.  In high school, I got teased a lot about my sexual orientation, and I often got called Norma.  I let that slide off my back also.

I’m very shy with strangers, so I’m pretty much a loner.  I hate the taste of hard liquor and I rarely go to a bar.  Fortunately, I have a few friends, and I get invited to house parties from time to time.  I’m grateful for these invitations.  I sometimes meet a kindred soul at one of these gatherings; someone shy and retiring like me.  It’s the only opportunity either of us has to get laid.  My record for such liaisons is three or four times a year.  I haven’t cared to be with anyone of them again.  When I was twenty, I figured I’d be a virgin all my life.  It’s encouraging to know that I won’t die a stranger to sex.  In between encounters, I make love to myself, using my fist.

Because of my life style, I have no expectations of ever being in a long term, monogamous relationship.  To tell the truth, I’m not sure I want to be.  I’m used to doing whatever I want to do, and keeping my home neat or messy, as the mood strikes me.  I don’t think that I’m willing to give up that freedom so readily.

A by-product of my existence is that I don’t have any great expenses.  I told you, I don’t go to bars, and I have no desire to go on vacations alone.  I must admit, I have considered going on a guided tour.  There would be plenty of travelling companions for me to meet.  But what if they’re all coupled?  Where would that leave me?  As you can see, I make up plenty of excuses to enable me to continue to be a loner.  If I ever change my mind, I have a hefty vacation fund.  I can go anywhere in the world.  I just need to get off my ass, and abandon my complacency.

I’ve heard it said often enough that real life is stranger than fiction.  I can attest to the accuracy of that axiom.  Bizarre as it may sound, after all I have revealed to you about my non-existent life, I have a bucket list.  Mind you, I have very little expectation of doing anything on that list, but still, I keep adding to it, in what can only be described as wishful thinking.

One day, I not only added an item to the list, I put it at the top.  I got so excited about it, I vowed to actually do it.  I had plenty of vacation time, and as I told you, plenty of cash in my vacation fund.

-1-

One bitter cold winter evening in early January, I was sitting on my lounge chair.  It was my twenty-eighth birthday, and as usual, I was celebrating it all by myself.  I was wrapped up in my old flannel bath robe, and I was sipping hot tea with lemon.  I was watching an old movie on a classic movie channel.  I could not possibly have known that the movie would change my life.  The movie, Mogambo, is about several people on an African Safari.  Of course, their lives get all enmeshed, including a classic love triangle. 

It occurred to me that this was not a group trip.  There were only two couples on the safari, and they had booked the trip independently.  One of the couples was happily married, or so it seemed.  The other couple was a rich man and his girlfriend.  Unfortunately, the rich guy never showed up, so we were left with the couple, one half of whom was a flirtatious Grace Kelly, and the jilted girlfriend, Ava Gardner.  The game guide was Clark Gable, and therein we have the triangle between the two women and Clark.

A private safari seemed like the perfect solution to my craving for privacy. I put it on my bucket list, so that I could have the pleasure of striking off at least one item on the list.  I had every intention of following through this time.  I spent the following weekend researching what I hoped would be the trip of a lifetime.

I searched the internet, and zeroed in on three travel agencies, not too distant from my home.  These three agencies booked safari vacations, but I feared that it would only be group tours, which I swore to avoid.

On Monday morning I contacted all three agencies.  I was right about the first two I called.  They only handled pre-packaged group tours.  They were actually pretty posh trips, but I certainly wasn’t interested.  I struck gold with the next agency.  They did handle individual safari bookings.  I made an appointment to visit with an agent the next day.  We had to review the itinerary, but more importantly, we had to establish a time when I could get away, and when the game guide would be available.

The agent handled all the arrangements quickly and very skillfully.  Six months later, on July 1^st, I found myself going through customs at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in Nairobi, Kenya.  As soon as I left the secure area, I saw a young man holding a placard with my name on it.  It simply read, N. Smith.  I had booked the trip using my alias, Norman.

The young man was absolutely beautiful.  He was nineteen or twenty years old.  He had blond hair which sparkled in the sunlight.  His eyes were blue.  He had a pugged nose, and a square, manly chin.  It was winter in Kenya, and the temperature was a pleasant 70^o Fahrenheit.  It was cool for me, but the young man was wearing Bermuda shorts.  The shorts were loose fitting, so I got no hints there.  The only thing I prayed for at that moment was that the lad was merely a driver come to take me to my game guide.  If he was my guide, I was in deep shit.  How could I handle two weeks alone with him in the wild?  I’d want to attack him, for sure.  I had to keep telling myself to control my feelings.  Unfortunately, I wasn’t good at hiding my feelings.  I never really had feelings worth hiding.

I approached the young man, and he smiled at me.  He held out his hand, and said, “My name’s Victor Richardson.  It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Smith.  I’ll be your game guide for your visit here to Kenya.” 

My worst fear was going to be realized.  Victor was indeed my guide.  I managed to untie my tongue, and I asked him to please call me Norm, and I’d call him Vic.

“It’s a deal,” he said.

He took my bags and put them in the back of a closed truck.

He spoke English perfectly, with a very aristocratic, clipped British inflexion.  As soon as we were seated, I was prompted to ask, “You speak English like a Brit.  Have you always lived in Kenya?”

“I’ve lived here ever since I was a little boy.  My dad is the British Consul in Nairobi.  I went to prep school in London, but now I’m attending The University of Nairobi.  I’m off for the summer, and I took this job.  I love to introduce tourists to the wonders of Kenya.  I promise to show you a good time.” 

My knees buckled at his unintended double entendre.

“You’ll spend tonight at a fine hotel,” he said,” “but I’ll pick you up after breakfast, and we’ll be off.  Did the travel agency advise you what clothing to bring?”

“Yes, and I promise to look like a spot-on safari participant.”

Vic laughed.  “Perfect,” he said.

He helped me get checked into the hotel, and he went on his way.  As he left, he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow at 8 AM.”

Foolishly, I got very little sleep that night.  Even though I wanted to be well-rested for the trip, I was awake all-night dreaming of making love with Vic.  I masturbated twice.

The next morning after breakfast, I checked out, and waited for Vic in the lobby.  When he arrived, he took my bags, and put them back in the truck.  I sat down next to him, and buckled my seat belt.

“This is it,” he said.  “We’re off.”

Vic was driving the truck on the left side of the road, but it had been manufactured in The United States.  The steering wheel was on the American side.  This misconfiguration of the wheel location and the driving lane, was confusing the hell out of me, and I kept applying my foot to imaginary brakes.  Little by little, I got used to it.

We were quiet for a while, but I wanted to make conversation.  “Where are we going?” I asked, as if I would know the locations or that it would matter.

“There are several game preserves in the area,” Vic answered me.  “We’ll visit each one for a couple of days each.  You’ll be able to take hundreds of pictures.  Did your travel agent explain about the accommodations?”

“Well, all she said was that it was a no-frills experience, more like an old-fashioned safari, before there were fancy hotels.”

“Right,” Vic agreed, “but let me explain.  The posh tours will visit the same preserves as we do, but the tourists will stay at ritzy hotels, and view the animals from a domed bus.  I’ll be driving us as close to the wild life as I can.  Your pictures will be a hundred times better than theirs.  For two weeks you’ll really be roughing it.  We’ll have to prepare canned meals outside the truck, and dig holes for our waste.”

I was very uncomfortable when I heard this, but it was what I asked for.  It was what I wanted.  I couldn’t complain.

“We will make stops at the hotels, however,” Vic continued, “just to replenish our supplies.  We’ll neither eat nor sleep there.”

“If we won’t be using the hotels,” I asked, “where will we sleep?”

“In the back of the truck.  It’s pretty comfortable,” Vic said.

“Both of us, together?” I stupidly asked.

“Of course.  What are you afraid of?” Vic asked.  “I won’t ravish you unless you want me to.”

That left me so tongue-tied, that Vic misread my shock.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I overstepped my bounds.”

“Are you kidding me, mister?” I asked.  “There’s nothing I would want more than for you to ravish me.  You’re so fucking hot, but explain to me what’s going on.”

“I’m gay,” Vic said, “and after several years of living in an all boys’ prep school, my gaydar is honed to perfection.  I knew immediately that you were gay.  Furthermore, you are really young and good-looking.  Most of my customers are straight and ugly.  I can’t wait to get you alone tonight.”

I was flabbergasted.  Nobody had ever told me that I was good looking before this.  Sometimes dreams do come true.

“Last night I couldn’t sleep at all.  I just kept imagining making love with you, and I jacked off twice,” I admitted.

Vic started to laugh.  “It was the same with me,” he said, “only I made it three times.”

“When we get to our first preserve, could we skip the sightseeing and get right into the back of the truck?” I asked jokingly.

“Not on your life,” Vic said.  “It’s my job to see that you get what you paid for.  The love making is your tip to me,” he laughed.  “No pun intended.”

Boy, did we make love together that night.  In spite of our age difference, we were similar in the love department.  We were both uncut, hefty, and about four inches flaccid.  We both grew to seven inches.

Vic came well prepared with lube and condoms.  He was the one with the experience, and he guided me through. He admitted that he, and fellow students at the prep school, made love together almost constantly.  I knew it was true.  The young man was an old pro.  He brought me to rapture several times that first night.

We made love every night during the entire safari.  I don’t know what was sorer, my ass or my jaw, but I was not about to complain.  Not only did I cross off an item on my bucket list, but I enjoyed having more sex than I had ever had since my first experience at seventeen.  As a bonus, Vic did as he promised.  He showed me the wonders of Kenya.

We ate out of cans for most of the trip, but Vic had a cooler, which he kept full of beer.  Since it was the only beverage available, I began to drink the awful stuff.  Somehow, I developed a taste for it, and by the end of the trip I was enjoying getting a buzz on with Vic, before sex.

It was with a sad and heavy heart that Vic drove me to the airport.  There was no kissing or embracing in public, but as we parted, he said, “I hope my next client is as handsome and gay as you, and better yet, as good a lover. 

I thanked him, gave him a big tip and went into the terminal.

When I got home, I was a changed man.  The safari opened my eyes, and I vowed to turn my life around.

-2-

I got home on a Friday morning, and didn’t have to be at work until the following Monday morning.  I am the chief accountant for a textile mill in South Carolina, but our corporate office is in New York City.  As much fun as I had with Vic on Safari, it was nice to be home.  I put all my dirty clothes in the wash machine, and took a real, honest-to-goodness, Stateside shower.  It was like a gift from the gods.

In the shower, I kept thinking of Vic and I whacked off twice.  Reluctantly I left the shower.   I needed a shave, and as I looked in the mirror, I remembered Vic telling me (more than once) how handsome I was.  I stared at my image, and I didn’t see handsome.  I wondered what Vic had seen in me.

No matter what I saw, or what Vic saw, I resolved then and there to make an effort to change my life and my appearance.  Vic had shown me a better way to live.  He opened me up to the joy of sex, which I had studiously avoided.  He developed in me a taste for beer.  I felt that I could go to a club now, on occasion, and socialize with a beer in my hand.  I vowed not to sit home alone anymore.  My final decision was to alter my image.  I decided to get my hair cut by a stylist. I never before wanted to spend the money. 

I went out for lunch.  The restaurant was very crowded, and I had to wait for my turn just to sit at the counter.  A miracle happened while I was waiting.  I realized that I didn’t mind the crowd at all.  Perfect strangers would catch my eye and smile at me.  The real miracle was that I smiled back.

After lunch I went to a stylist.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” Maurizio observed.  “I can guarantee you that when I’m finished styling your hair, you’ll never go anywhere else,” he declared, in full confidence of his abilities.

Maurizio’s talent would have been obvious to the village idiot.  When he was finished, I looked in the mirror and I saw a glimmer of what Vic had seen.  I had to control myself from crying.  I always did, since the day I came out to my parents.

When I came out to them, my father hugged me.  “I kind of suspected,” he said.  “Listen squirt, we’ll always love you. Just be happy.”  I started to cry.

“Stop crying,” he ordered me.  “You queers cry at the drop of a hat.”  He hugged me harder, and laughed his sides off.  He couldn’t stop.  Ever since then, I have tried to control my desire to cry, which unfortunately, was an often-felt desire.

From there, I went to Greenwich Village.  There were a number of gay boutiques, where I could buy sexy clothes for clubbing, not for work.  I had nothing like that in my closet at home.  I was starting from scratch.  I bought several muscle shirts, two pairs of extra tight jeans, sexy briefs, and a couple of pairs of sandals.  I headed home loaded with packages.

The day had been very exciting for me, and I was suffering from jet lag.  In spite of my resolve, I didn’t go out that night.  I fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.  I dreamed about Vic.

The next day, Saturday, I spent a couple of hours cleaning my small apartment, and bracing myself for my new future.  I was going to a gay bar that evening, and I swore to come home with a trick, or go to his place.

It was summer and I wore no jacket.  My jeans were so tight, I had no room for condoms or lube, and I hoped that if I went home with somebody he would be well supplied.  With some difficulty, I was able to stuff my wallet into a hip pocket, so I had cash and a credit card. 

I headed to The Village, and I was surprised that I wasn’t nervous.  I was unfamiliar with the gay bars in the area, and I entreated the gods that I would choose the right one.  It was easier than I thought.  As I strolled up and down the main street, I looked in at the bars and checked out the clientele.

Although I am still in my twenties, I have a position that is extremely important, and for me to have it at my age speaks to my maturity and level-headedness.  I would prefer to hang out with mature men in their thirties and forties than with youngsters.  I by-passed the first two bars.  Even if the clientele was older, they were all acting like the twinkies, who were in the majority, and seemed to be the denizens of the place.

The third bar was perfect.  Thinking back to my search for the right travel agent, I concluded that three was my lucky number.  The men in the bar seemed to be a variety of ages, but there were more than an ample number, who appeared to be in their thirties and forties.

I entered the bar for a night of entertainment, and got a lifetime of contentment and joy.

-3-

There were no tables available, and every barstool was taken.  I went to the order station, and got a Bud Light.  I was surprised when the bartender gave me two bottles.

“How come?” I asked.

“It’s happy hour for another forty-five minutes.  We feature twofers during that time,” he explained. 

At first, I felt foolish that I had to ask about the double serving, but then I rationalized that if I didn’t ask, I would never learn.

I observed that many men were lined up against the back wall.  Their drinks were resting on a small shelf that ran around the perimeter of the walls of the bar.  I didn’t have to ask what the shelf was for.  I saw a small available space between two guys who seemed to be alone.  The one on the left was nearly as good-looking as Vic, and that’s saying a lot.  Strangely, I liked the looks of the guy on the right.  He was about my age and very average looking, but something inside of me said, “He’s got a good soul.”

I don’t know where that idiotic thought came from, but I have to be honest.  That’s what I felt, and I was drawn to him.  I stood next to him, and placed my two bottles on the shelf.  Thank God, he introduced himself to me.  In spite of all my resolves, I never would have had the nerve.

As we shook hands, he said, “I’m Jason Baronski.  I’m thinking of changing it to Jason Bourne.”  We both broke out laughing.

“I’m Norm Smith,” I said when I stopped laughing.  “Wanna exchange last names?”

“Maybe,” he grinned.  “At least people will stop asking me how to spell Baronski.”

When he grinned at me, something exploded inside of me.  I told you he was very average looking, but with that grin, he became the handsomest dude in New York, if not the world.

I guess he was just making conversation, when he asked me, “Where did you get that fantastic tan.  Did you just come back from vacation?”

“Yes, Sherlock,” I answered.  “I was on an African safari.”

“Are you kidding me?” he asked.  “That’s awesome.  I want to hear all about it.”

What happened next took all my new resolve.  I almost choked on my words, but I got them out.

“There’s no place here where we can talk quietly,” I said.  “Would you like to come home with me?  I’ll tell you all about it, and show you pictures.  I’ve got millions of them.” I tried to give him my most ingratiating smile.  I also got the strangest feeling that wherever he was, Vic was being proud of me.

“That’s a lot of pictures.  How long do you reckon the slide show will take?” he asked facetiously.

“Probably all night,” I answered.

“It’s amazing,” he kept smiling at me, and my knees grew week.  “That fits in perfectly with my schedule.”

Simultaneously, we grabbed each other’s hands and ran out of the bar.  I hailed a cab, and twenty minutes later, we were in my apartment.  As soon as my front door was locked, we fell into each other’s arms, and grabbed our crotches.  We stripped right in the front hall.  We look nothing alike, but our cocks were exactly the same size except that Jason is cut and I’m not.

Of course. we spent the night together.  I applied every trick Vic had taught me, and Jason kept whimpering how good I made him feel.  I got him off twice, once in my mouth and once in my ass.  He obliged me by doing as much for me.

When we were lying side by side, holding hands, I started to sigh, and Jason asked me what was wrong.

“Now I realize what a jerk I was before I went away on safari,” I said.

Jason looked perplexed.  I didn’t care to explain further.

After that, Jason and I dated frequently, but I didn’t want to be monogamous.  I was having too much fun after my long hiatus.  Jason kept bugging me for a commitment.  I was reluctant to do so.

One day, I called and asked him if he’d like to see the latest James Bond movie with me on Friday evening, followed by a couple of beers at our favorite bar.  He turned me down.  I was shocked.

“Why not?” I asked, or maybe I whimpered.

“Our relationship isn’t going anywhere,” he explained.  “I can’t waste any more time.”  He hung up abruptly.

I stared and stared at my phone.  I couldn’t believe what he just said to me.  I gave out one huge wail, as I realized that I couldn’t live without him.  I took a cab and went to his apartment.  I banged on the door, and he answered.  All he was wearing was a pair of very sexy briefs that I had given him for his birthday.

He smiled when he saw me.  “What took you so long to get here?” he asked.  “I had to say what I said to knock some sense into you.  Do you still want to go to the movies?”

“Another time,” I said. “I want to spend the night in your bed, and every night to come for the rest of my life.”

Jason and I are now in a devoted relationship.  I shudder when I think what my life would have been like, if I hadn’t mustered up the courage to go on a one-man safari.  I would probably be basking in self-pity.  Every night I thank Vic and Jason for showing me the light.  I’m grateful to both of them.

Posted: 07/17/2020