I was awakened, lying on my side, my body encased by that of Mustafa's, by the song of a Siva's warbler. It was still pitch dark, but the sounds from outside my tent warned me that it wouldn't be dark all that long and Mustafa needed to get back to his own tent before anyone else in the camp stirred. Mustafa felt me move, and his cock stirred to life inside my ass canal. He kissed me on the neck and started to stroke my inner thighs with his searching fingers.
"No, not again, Mustafa," I whispered to him. "We don't have time. You need to get back to your tent before the others waken. If Dr. Emory finds out about us, he'll send us both away, and neither of us can afford not to be on this tomb dig at the Sulb Temple."
Mustafa grunted his disappointment, but he knew I was right. he pulled himself away from me, gave me a gentle, tantalizing kiss on the lips, enveloped his beautiful, lithe body in a black caftan, and slipped through the gauze curtains at my tent doorway. I rose and walked over to my wash basin and scrubbed the night of very pleasant sex from my body. I should be tired from the lack of sleep, but this archaeology project on Sudan's Jabel Abyad Plateau on the side of the upper Nile was so fascinating that I could hardly wait to get out to the dig. We were slowly, but surely, excavating the entrance to the first ancient Egyptian tomb that had been located in this area for decades.
Mustafa and Clint Winston were already at the tomb, working painstakingly with their whisks and spoons when Dr. Emory and I arrived. The morning sun was baking the sandy earth around us, but Mustafa looked cool in his white cotton caftan. Clint was stripped to the waist, and I stripped down for work myself as Dr. Emory set up his books and files under the shade of a canvas tarp. It would take weeks for us to uncover the entrance of the tomb with our whisks and spoons, but every spoonful of earth was being examined for whatever treasure it might contain.
After a half hour of intense work under the beating sun, I stood and turned toward the canteens we were storing in a cooler and took several deep swigs of water. My gaze went over to the twisted shape of a baobab tree nearby and I was surprised to see a tall, heavily muscled African standing there in the partial shade of the tree. He must have been nearly seven feet tall. He had both hands wrapped around a sturdy stake nearly as tall as he was with the stubs of branches coming out of it at various angles, and he had one foot raised onto one of these stubs, near the base of the stake, resting his weight on that. He was wearing only a loin cloth and had an animal skin pouch slung at his side. And he was magnificent. My butt twitched and my cock lurched when I realized who it was.
It was the Bull of the Mitsagusi tribe. Two weeks previously, the nine twenty-something youths of the Mitsagusi tribe, led by the Bull, named because of his superior physical endowments, had invited the men from the archaeology camp to view their annual fertility dance. The ritual dance had included a series of male-on-male sexual release simulations, which the tribe had performed for real in the dark of the night that followed on both Mustafa and me—and perhaps on Clint Winston as well—separately in our tents. I had no idea what either Mustafa or Clint had thought about this, but I was a group banger from way back and had thoroughly enjoyed the ravishing. And I had particularly found fulfilling that huge, black cock of the Bull churning inside me. When I had awakened the next morning, the Mitsagusi camp, and the tribe along with it, had disappeared.
"Isn't that. . .?
"Yes, yes it is," Mustafa muttered under his breath.
"How long has he been there?" I asked.
"Since before I arrived," Mustafa said. "Clint is just about going crazy from fear and anticipation over his reappearance."
