Blood & Milk (13 page)

“I couldn’t remember, that’s all,” I answered. “I’ve lost all sense of time here. There’s no TV, no Internet, no phones.”

He frowned. “Do you miss those things?”

I unwrapped my shuka and let it fall in a heap on the rocks, then I pulled off my threadbare shirt.
Did I miss those things? My old life?
I thought about how my old life, up until Jarrod died, was a stress of emails, sales quotas, and conference meetings. Not to mention how everyone was glued to their phones and social media updates.
Did I miss that?
“Nope. Not at all.”

Did anyone back home miss me? That was the real question. Probably not, I reasoned. Lord knows my family were history, and I’d all but withdrawn from my friends. Those who still called around after Jarrod was killed had eventually stopped trying to get me out of the flat. The visits stopped and eventually the phone calls and tags on Facebook stopped too. I didn’t blame them… I just didn’t want them trying so damn hard or fumbling over not saying the wrong thing. It was awkward, they knew it as well as I did, and every time they’d look at me with pity, it did nothing but remind me that Jarrod was gone forever.

But here, in the middle of winter, deep in the western Tanzanian wilds, I was free of all of that.

I stripped down to my undies and toed off my shoes. I took hold of Damu’s hand, and together, laughing, we dived into the icy cold river.

The swell of the bellies of the female goats and cows could only mean one thing: spring was coming. The nights were still cold, the mornings brisk, but the days were warming up and a flourish of new growth tinged the Serengeti green. The mood in the kraal was lifted, proof with random outbursts of songs and laughter.

Talk soon filtered through of the return of the warriors at the end of the week, and with it, came much excitement.

The children in our classroom role-played of being warriors, hunting lions and jumping. They taught me new songs, and we continued with our letter and number recognition, in both Maa and English, making both words and sums. Then we played soccer in the evenings before the children were called inside, and Damu and I spent our nights in bed, exploring each other’s bodies.

It was both erotic and endearing, watching him learn what his own body liked and how to make my body writhe. We’d done everything else we possibly could without having penetrative sex. Damu’s culture had told him all his life that anything to do with the anus was dirty and wrong. It had been a miracle that he was even open to his own sexuality now, knowing what the ramifications could be if we were caught, but it seemed anal play was a bigger obstacle than I’d first thought.

The reasonable part of my brain knew that some men, when in bed with another man, never partook in anal sex. It wasn’t for them, and that was perfectly okay. But I loved to bottom. For me, there was nothing better than being laid on a bed, manhandled even, and being fucked into the mattress. I loved having anal sex, and I wasn’t ashamed about it.

Damu, on the other hand, was.

Once when we’d been fooling around in bed and I was jerking him off and fondling his balls, I’d tried teasing him with a gentle touch there, but he froze. I never pushed the issue with him of course, but it didn’t stop me from doing it to myself.

I lay back on the mattress, Damu at my side. He had his hand firmly wrapped around my cock and I slipped my hand―my left hand, not my right―down to my balls, tugging and rolling, then I slipped it further down. I massaged my perineum, spread my legs wider and traced circles over my hole. God I’d missed this. My back arched with pleasure and Damu’s hand stilled.

“Alé,” he whispered.

Still with my left hand, I swiped the precome from the tip of my cock, then applied the sticky wetness to my arsehole. I took my dick with my right hand, pumping and pulling, and with my left hand, I pushed a finger into myself.

“Alé,” Damu whispered again. This time he sounded alarmed.

I concentrated on him, but I never stopped working myself over. “It feels so good,” I murmured. I inserted another finger and couldn’t help but moan. It had been so long… I pumped my cock harder and pushed deeper inside myself, curling my fingers just enough to touch my gland, over and over, forcing my orgasm free. My back arched one final time, my entire body straining, as come shot onto my stomach. It had been over a year and a half since I’d had an experience so powerful, and it took a few moments for my senses to come back to me.

When the room stopped spinning, Damu had his hand to my cheek. His face was so close to mine, I could see his eyes, even in the darkness. He was staring at me with disbelief. “What is your real name?” he asked, a quiet whisper. “Not Alé.”

My name
? I had to think… “Heath Crowley.”

“Heath Crowley,” he repeated like a prayer, before crushing his lips to mine. He deepened the kiss, frantically, then rolled on top of me.

His weight was divine, his kiss deep and thorough. He was owning me, and it was perfect. I opened my legs for him, feeling him in all the right places, and he rutted against me. I drew my knees up, giving him better angles, his long cock was hard and hot against mine. Driving his hips into me, using the friction between us, he brought himself to climax.

I held him tighter, kissed him deeper, as his orgasm ripped through him. He trembled and shook, whining into my mouth as he came, and his come shot between us. He collapsed on top of me, and I wrapped my arms around him. It was so erotic, so hot. I imagined what it would feel like to have him come inside me, and it sent a shiver through me.

Damu stirred, and I tightened my hold on him. “Don’t move,” I whispered. “I want you right where you are.” I pulled our shukas up and over us, covering us the best I could. “That was amazing,” I murmured, kissing his ear.

“I have not known such things,” he mumbled into my neck. “What you did made me lose my mind. I could not stop.”

I chuckled. “You’re welcome. And for what it’s worth Damu, you can do that to me anytime.”

He rolled to the side, taking me with him, so we were on our sides, wrapped in each other’s arms. “You like, with your fingers in… there?”

I smiled into his neck. “Yes.”

“The way you come in such pleasure…” he whispered, “I can’t imagine it. Does it not pain?”

“If it’s done right, slow and with a lubricant, it feels amazing. It’s strange at first, but then it is very good.”

“What is lubricant?”

Oh.
“Something to make it slippery and smooth.” I tried to think of something he could identify with. “Like fat or grease.”

“Make slick.”

“Yes.”

“And sometimes men put penis there?”

“Sometimes, not always.”

He paused for a moment, and his voice was tight. “And you’ve done this many times?” Was he jealous or curious?

I chuckled. “A few.”

Again with a pause. “And this is safe?”

I pulled back and put my right hand to his face. The hut was completely black now and I could just make out the whites of his eyes. I knew HIV and AIDS were a great health concern in Africa, and I could have kicked myself for not addressing this sooner. “Damu, are you worried about your health?”

He just stared at me. His silence was his answer.

I needed to make this clear, so nothing was lost in translation. “I have had many blood tests and each one came back all clear. I have no disease or illness. You are safe with me.” Then I asked, “And you have never had sex before?”

“No. Until you.”

I knew sex wasn’t the only way STIs could spread, but he was a virgin, he’d never left this camp, and he was an absolute picture of health. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it wasn’t just anal sex that could spread disease. We’d been giving and receiving blowjobs for a while now… God, I was so stupid. I should have brought this up before the very first time. When he’d told me he was a virgin, I never thought any more on risks, to either of us, because he couldn’t have STIs if he was a virgin, right? I was too busy enjoying the feeling of being alive and desired to worry about HIV and AIDS. The fucking irony in that was hideous.

“Damu, please understand. If I thought it was a risk, I wouldn’t have done anything with you. I would never harm you, in any way.” I pressed my lips to his and traced my fingers over his eyebrow. “You are safe with me.”

“You wish me to do the sex to you?”

His nerves were showing in his English. I kissed him softly again. “I would never ask you to do something you didn’t want to do.”

“But you wish it?”

Here went nothing. “I do. I like it, but it’s not essential. I like everything we do. Even just spending time with you and being around you makes me happy.”

I could just make out his smile in the darkness. “You make me happy too, Heath Crowley.”

I chuckled. “My real name.”

“Yes. It is a true name.”

“A true name?”

“Heath. Heath is like
Ol-os
i
nkō
.”

“It’s like what?”

“Centre of home. Heath means home fire, warmth of home.”

“Oh.”
Heath is like hearth
.

“It is your true name, warmth of my home, Heath Crowley.”

I snuggled into his embrace, breathing in his earthy scent and relishing the warmth that surrounded me. He kissed the side of my head, and the strong and steady beat of his heart, lulled me to sleep.

* * * *

Every night that week, after we’d spent our days in the cool winds of the Serengeti and our afternoons in the classroom and playing soccer. We spent our nights talking while we ate our soup, and when it was time to go lie down, Damu would end up on top of me, snug between my thighs.

Most nights we frotted, rubbing our cocks together, until release. Some nights we just rocked against each other, our cocks pressed between us, but each night I’d wrap my legs around him or bring my knees up to our sides, each night getting a little closer. Sometimes he rubbed the head of his dick across my hole, like he was testing himself. He was curious, that much was clear, but also uncertain and a little afraid.

On the night before the warriors were to return, I lay on the mattress naked while Damu sat back on his haunches with my thighs across his. His long cock jutted proudly toward me, and he positioned himself at my entrance. I could see the uncertainty on his face, even in the darkened room.

I gripped my own dick with one hand and rubbed a nipple with my other, unable to bite back the moan. He pushed against me, not quite hard enough to penetrate, but he groaned out a cry as he came, shooting come across my arse and balls. I was so turned on, I followed directly after.

When we’d cleaned up a bit and were lying in each other’s arms, Damu took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Never this better, Heath Crowley. Never this better.”

I chuckled and kissed his chest, content to bask in the silence and his happiness.

* * * *

The women stood in a line at the gates of the kraal, their gourds filled with fresh milk, and as the new warriors came home, the women splashed them with milk. It probably wasn’t the weirdest thing I’d seen in all my time here, but it was an anointing, as such, and that I could respect. They used milk, according to Damu, because it nourished and sustained, it was the sacred lifeblood of the Maasai people.

Kijani followed the new warriors inside, their smiles huge and contagious. The newly appointed elders, or junior elders as they were called, came in last.

When we got back inside the kraal, I couldn’t see anyone. “Where is everyone?” I whispered.

“The new warriors go to their mothers,” Damu answered. “Be prepared for showing. New shukas, red now, not black. New beads for them too.”

“Is that what they’ve been busy making?” I asked. “When I’m in the classroom with the children, they’ve been busy stitching and beading.”

Damu smiled. “Yes. Very exciting time. Feast tonight. New warriors kill goat. It is tradition.”

It was exciting, I couldn’t deny it. There was a buzz throughout the whole kraal, and I could hear bursts of laughter coming from inside some of the huts, while the elders stood in closed circles trading stories. All the while, Damu was on the outer. If I hadn’t been here with him, he’d have been completely alone. He was never included, he was never part of anything. He simply stood on the outside looking in and seemingly happy to do so. He smiled as they smiled, never an inkling of jealousy or yearning. He was happy because
they
were happy. His own joy, his own place of belonging, never entered into the equation.

It boggled my mind.

As the new warriors came out, dressed in their new red shukas, holding their new warrior spears, they stood in a proud line. Heads held high, chests out, this was their crowning glory, their social status as high as it would get.

The women began to sing, a low bass with perfect rhythm. Amali sang the higher notes, singing words of praise for these new men, of bravery and virility. And they danced, a jerky movement that made their dinner-plate-like necklaces bob and sway.

Then the men began to jump. They’d take turns, leaping high into the air, all while chanting and singing. It was a sight to behold.

It was an incredible thing to witness.

The meat was prepared, the blood kept in gourds, and everyone left the kraal to eat. No meat was ever consumed inside the walls of the kraal, as was customary, and the men never ate with the women and children.

Damu and I stayed with the women, of course. It was just our natural place in the manyatta; they accepted us, included us. I really liked them, especially Amali and Yantai, though I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me a little bit. Not for me, but for Damu. I had no misconceptions about my status. I was, and would always be, an outsider. But Damu wasn’t. He was born here. He was one of them, and he would defend those men with his own life, but he was treated like dirt.

I took comfort in knowing he wasn’t bothered by it, and that eased my concerns a great deal. If it upset him, or if it ate away at him, it would have upset me more. But he seemed happy enough, or maybe he was completely resigned to his place in this society.

“What you think of?” he asked, handing me a strip of roasted meat. “It is time for happiness, not frowns.”

I took the meat gratefully. “Thank you. Yes, I’m happy… Can I ask you something?”