South African Safari
On the Rebound Meets Kruger Ranger
This story is original fiction, although the author did witness the animal interactions that are described--they are only a little exaggerated. The characters and places are otherwise imagined. All characters engaged in sexual activity are over 18. Story told in the first person by Paul Goodfield. © 2023 Brunosden
As soon as the small jet-prop made its landing at the private airstrip and retraced its path to the south end, two open-topped Land Rovers appeared at the edge of the tarmac. Five passengers (including me) exited from the plane as our duffels were unloaded and then carried to the vehicles. Two couples were greeted by one of the rangers; the other approached me, obviously somewhat surprised. "Mr. Goodfield? Where is your traveling partner?"
"It's Paul, please. It's really a very short story. We broke up three days ago--the afternoon before we were booked to begin our travels here. You know it usually takes three days--or rather nights--to get here from the States: Miami to London, London to Johannesburg, a night at the airport and then this flight to the edge of the Park. It was too late to cancel or expect refunds. So here I am--alone and still trying to figure out the events of the last few days."
"I can see you're upset, and I'm guessing you are a bit tired. I'm Ron Stillwell, your ranger for the week. Let's see what we can do over the next week to provide you with the enjoyable holiday you planned nevertheless. I'll try to take your mind off your loss. This experience has been known to change lives. I'm assigned to take you to your villa and get you settled in. Then you can have refreshments if you wish and a nap. The first game drive is planned for later today."
I hopped into the Land Rover, taking the shotgun seat rather than one of the elevated touring seats. (Curious that I called it shotgun--for there was indeed a gun rack and a gun on the dash as there would always be when we were in the bush.) The drive was British-style--the wheel on the right. This was obviously not a safari adventure park in the States.
This trip had been a gift from my grandparents--a graduation present. I had just finished my MBA at Kellogg-Northwestern in Chicago and was about to join our family's investment advisory business in Miami, where they had migrated many years ago to escape the Chicago winters. My (ex-?) partner, Billy Morris, had been a childhood friend, our relationship continuing all the way through college. We had lived together in Chicago while he worked after college as a commodities trader and I continued my studies. Then, when I graduated, it came time to move to Miami. Within a few weeks, he realized commodities traders were not elite finance guys in Miami and complained it was probably not going to work for him. Although we talked and tried, a few weeks later and a few days ago, he had flown back to Chicago, leaving me to take this vacation or not--but without him. "I think we are finished as a couple--unless you move back to Chicago and we pick up where we left off."
We talked as he drove through the bush toward the camp, and I had an opportunity to take in "my" ranger. He was about six foot, my height, blue-eyed, with an outdoor complexion--tanned and a little rosy. He looked like he probably was of Dutch farmer stock--wide-shouldered, flat bellied, with rugby thighs and an ass that easily filled the khaki uniform: a short sleeve safari shirt with epaulets bearing the camp's logo and khaki shorts. He had on clean white socks and short suede leather hiking boots and a thick leather belt with a knife sheath. His hair was brown, cut short, tips bleached by the sun. I guessed he was about 22 or 23. He was handsome and wholesome. He was also definitely macho and hetero with a baritone voice, large hands, and a take-charge attitude.
The trip had been booked as super-luxe. The air had been business class sleeper seats--two consecutive nights. The villa was in the exclusive "upper-club" of the game preserve at the edge of the Kruger National Park. Most guests shared rangers and Land Rovers with three to five other guests, shared the camp swimming pool, and enjoyed lavish buffet meals. The whole "camp" was luxury--no tents here. But the upper-club was different: each villa (there were eight) had its own dedicated ranger and Land Rover and a private plunge pool with an outdoor shower. Within the compound was the upscale cocktail bar and restaurant, elevated over a popular game watering hole which was illuminated at night.
I guess you've realized by now that I am gay. My family and friends all know, and it doesn't really bother them. At first it was difficult for the family, but I'm not an only child, and grandchildren were already around. Miami is of course one of the most welcoming communities for gays--even if the conservative faux-Christian politicians in the north of the state (who control the legislature) are openly homo-phobic. That attitude just doesn't make it Miami.
I'm also Jewish. I've inherited the Mediterranean swarthy skin, dark eyes and wavy black hair, and drive of my ancestors--who escaped from Bavaria to Chicago at the beginning of the Second War. I'm an intellectual, but a people person. The family is hoping that I might attract some young metro-sexuals for financial advice in addition to using the analytical skills that I've honed over the last few years. I've done very well at the university and b-school. But, I'm also a gym rat and a fierce handball competitor. I'm 6-1, slim, lightly muscled, and very agile.
I was a legend in high school and the first years of college--an aggressive sexual animal, bedding most of the girls in my classes (at least all of those I considered attractive). I had matured early, was fearless, and I was, of course, cut and hung. I was the classic teenaged predator. So word traveled. I had no trouble dating--and the girls I dated all recognized that I would be inside their cunts before the end of the first date. And that a second date was unlikely. Mostly they wanted the bad boy adventure, the possibility of linking with a sorority of my exes--and to lose their virginity to a wrapped hung pro. More than once, I was punished by a jock for screwing his girl. She was usually worth it. And it didn't change my conduct.
That was until senior year of college. During the summer before, Billy and I had gone camping in the Indiana dunes--a real rustic camping in a tent. Billy was a star half-back, a chick-magnet, much bigger than I--he was about my height, but outweighed me by 40 to 50 lbs. He was muscled, powerful and macho-aggressive. Our childhood friendship had survived college and, maybe, his envy of my sexual record which he often teased me about. I think he was jealous--he was bigger in every way, but never had the sexual opportunities that I had. After only a day of celibacy in the dunes, sitting under the front awning of the tent, Billy pulled it out and starting jerking. I was no prude. I didn't need permission or an invitation. We were roommates. So I knew he was enormously endowed--and that he jerked a lot, often when he thought I was sleeping. I followed his lead.
The next day, he moved into my space and we helped each other. That was the trigger. He forced me into his lap. I sucked and coddled his nice big balls. His cum was tasty. By the third day, Billy had initiated me into the pleasures of man on man sex. With only the slightest encouragement, he had pushed me onto my belly, pulled me up on my knees, prepped me and stuck his lubed bareback cock into my ass. It hurt at first, but I learned to take pleasure from it. That wasn't the last time. During that trip, he fucked me over and over again. He was a power top and more or less forced me to become his bottom. It didn't take much coaxing. I had admired his physique for years. He had an enormous cock, much larger than mine, with a girth and corona that filled me and crowded my prostate. And he had an aggressive physical presence which always overwhelmed me. I was hooked. (Later I learned that this was described as a sub or a bottom behavior, but by then it didn't make much difference.) He fucked me hard, showed me my prostate, and stroked me off while intoxicating me with his stroking. At night, after he fucked me hard, our sleeping bags were zipped together, and he spooned me into his gut, positioning his dick in my crack and my semi into his fist as we slept. Most nights and even some days, I was sore and dripping his cum. But I wanted more.
I soon forgot the coeds. We became inseparable--as friends and in bed ever since. I went from being a hetero predator to a confirmed bottom/sub in only three days! And that situation had persisted for almost three years. Each year I became more dependent on him, or at least his physical attention. He lapped it up, took charge and used me at will. He was the man, getting more aggressive and possessive every week. His language during sex began to reflect the profanity of a seasoned Merc trader. And I was his willing bitch. Then when we moved to Miami, the bubble had burst.
As we reached the villa--a white stucco building with a thatched roof on a bluff overlooking the river, Ron grabbed my duffel and escorted me to the door. It contained a large suite, with a giant king bed facing sliding doors and the game reserve in the distance. An enormous jetted tub was placed in an alcove, also overlooking the park. Beyond the doors were a cantilevered deck with a plunge pool and an outdoor shower. The villas had all been sited to provide maximum privacy--to create the illusion that we were alone in the bush with a ringside seat for the action. And it was designed to be the love nest that honeymooners expected.
He pointed to a tray covered in white linen with drinks, sandwiches, fruit and pastries. "Help yourself. Dinner won't be for about four or five hours from now. We're scheduled to do a drive before then."
He then explained the routine--but was quick to note that in these villas, the guests were free to change anything. Assuming I was game (He laughed at his own joke; "I sure hope you are not the game."), there would be early morning continental breakfast just after dawn, then a game drive followed by brunch and a siesta (or an escorted walk in the bush if I were up to it), then another drive just before sundown, followed by cocktails and dinner. Early to bed. Early to rise. "Just let me know your pleasure."
"Mr. Goodfield....ah Paul, there is one more thing before I leave you to relax. I was chosen as the ranger for you and Mr. Morris because I'm gay. I'm pretty sure I'm the only gay ranger at this camp and probably any of the nearby camps. Gays don't seem to be much drawn to animal reserve management and safari guiding. Management thought you might be more comfortable if you had me for the week. I'm available for anything you want."
I didn't say anything, but I immediately began to think--I am definitely going to have Ron for the week. He was going to be my consolation prize, my rebound partner. He was definitely a hunk, a nice clean, innocent farm boy. Hopefully, he was sufficiently endowed to make it worth the effort. I smiled, "Oh I think you'll do." He seemed to understand.
"I'll be back at four to take you to the Rover. We park them over there in the motor court, just outside the fenced compound. Please don't walk outside the fence surrounding your villa or outside the villa after dark without an armed escort. Just call if you want anything. I'll come immediately." His expression seemed to carry a lot of hidden meaning.
"Before you leave, a few questions." Then I paused. "Or maybe, we can leave that for later. I'm not very tired--I spent last night at a hotel at the airport in Joburg. Why don't you come by at three--unless you just want to stay now. We can talk now or then."
