The bracing cold air in the mountains awoke his senses early that morning, just as it had each day he had been in the Swazi village.
Dawn would be breaking in a few minutes, and the first rooster's crowing had just died off, its waking call being echoed in the by others in the distance. Mark swung out of his bed and stood on the rough sisal mat that covered most of the hardened mud flooring of his hut, enjoying the feeling as the cords bite comfortably into his feet. He stretched and yawned, making his way out of the hut out into the courtyard.
Faint pink tendrils of the coming sun were beginning to mark the distant horizon, and he took in a deep breath, watching the mist that swirled around the craggy mountaintops around him.
This was exactly what he needed, coming out of the disaster that was his life in New York. He shook his head as familiar tensions started to flood his mind with just the thought of New York and he walked out into yard.
He was rich beyond his imagination and yet the fact there were others who were richer consumed his every waking moment. He could probably fuck every woman he wanted to, and had actually slept with many, and yet he was unsatisfied. There didn't seem to be an end to this chase.
And now here, in the remotest part of Swaziland, he had come to find salvation. He was still skeptical but as he looked around the yard, and felt the beauty of the place soak into him, he realized that a lot of the tension had evaporated.
Even in the daytime, he had some privacy in this yard - a chest high, closely thatched bamboo fence kept out prying eyes. But now, at dawn, he had complete privacy and had taken advantage of it every morning the past week. He was nude, the cold air raising goose bumps on his skin, but he enjoyed every minute of his early morning ritual. By the time he got to the fence in the far corner, he was massaging his tumescent cock and slowly moving down to gently squeeze his testicles. What a feeling, he grinned, a sort of return to an bestial state.
As far away from the trappings of modern society as he could get.
He stood with his legs apart and urinated into a bush that line that area of the fence, a strong and powerful stream that was steaming in the cold. The pleasure was exquisite and he threw his head back and grunted, clenching his buttocks as he did so. He had discovered this base pleasure some days ago and then had continued to indulge in it ever since.
Suddenly, he stiffened and he cut off his peeing in mid stream. He was sure he heard something. Or someone.
"Hey, don't stop now," he heard a woman's voice, South African accented lilt.
