Drums in the Night

"Any time, Tony," I answered.

* * * *

We lunched together around a pit fire where Gatimu and John had roasted a small animal that tasted good to me but that I didn't have the stomach to try to identify. Then, as some smoked and we all drank beer, Silas, Milo, and Wamai broke out native musical instruments—a couple of drums, called ngoma; a lyre Milo called a nyatiti, and a long horn, made out of the long, twisted horn of some eland-type creature.

As they played, starting with just Milo playing and singing to the nyatit, with the drums softly starting up, backed by soft tones from the horn, Milo finished with the lyre and, the other Kenyans moved into the circle and started swaying to the beat. Smoke was coming up from the open-pit fire, but it was more of a gently swirling haze, almost in time to the music, than something that choked our lungs.

A feeling was coming on—the feeling I get when the creative juices are running on designing a new, Halloween, revue for the gay men's productions in New York. The primitive setting and sounds were evoking the mood I had been thinking about—mist-infused swirling male witchery in the wild around a steaming cauldron. I knew I was on to something. What I needed was sex—to being under a man, moving inside me—to bring out the full-blown image of the way it would look and sound on stage.

Shuras were let down to become just sarong-type coverings of the loins. The magnificent gleaming-ebony body of Aasir, in just such a shura, entered the circle as the beat of the music picked up and became louder. Jean-Phillipe joined the circle, his shirt off and in just his khaki shorts. I was coaxed up as well and joined in the dance. Suras were dropped and Jean-Phillipe and I lost our shorts, and we were all weaving about in the altogether, swinging free and joining in a primeval dance backed up by the Kenyan folk instruments—swaying and swirling—male witchery—around a steaming bonfire.

Aasir danced close to me in the front and Jean-Phillipe behind. All three of us were in erection. The others, the Kenyans who weren't playing instruments and Tony, were swirling around us. Closer in to me came Aasir and Jean-Phillipe, each touching the others here, there, and then, more intimately, there as well, until we became one. Aasir lifted me and set me down on Jean-Phillipe's cock from behind and then grasped and raised and spread my legs, putting himself in position from the front, and entering me, forcing himself in, sliding in on top of Jean-Phillipe's already-buried cock. I cried out to the heavens in harmony with the primeval tones of the native instruments, as two huge cocks possessed and worked me to the rhythm of the drum beats. Walpurgis Night—I was living the theme I was reaching for.

"There, you can do it," Aasir whispered in my ear as I panted hard, working to be able to claim that I could take the black buck and anyone else at the same time.

The two magnificent, swaying hunks fucked me together as the music and dance continued. After a few minutes, though, always with his mind on profit, Jean-Phillipe muttered, "We need to get this on film. We'll do him in the Land Rover." As they pulled out of me and carried me, together, to the lead Land Rover, the Kenyans opening all of the doors of the vehicle as we approached it, Jean-Phillipe called out to Tony, "The cameras. Get this on video."

Tony grabbed one video camera and Pili another, and the Kenyans and Tony gathered around the Land Rover, some still playing their instruments, as Aasir reclined on the second seat on his back, pulled me down on top of him, facing him, and put me on his cock. Jean-Phillipe came in behind and on top of me, forced himself inside me, with Aasir, and the two resumed their double penetration fuck, alternating capturing my mouth in kisses and kissing each other over my shoulder as I grunted and moaned at servicing two hung men at once.

I managed, but I was left, exhausted, when we'd all come and the two men released me and went off, arm in arm, back to the circle, calling jovially for beer.

I lay there along the bench seat, on my back, legs parted, the heel of my foot resting on the top of the seat back and the other flat on the surface of the seat. I was panting and moaning.

But it had worked. The entire setting and mood of a Halloween gay men's dance revue had floated through my mind and solidified as I was being gangbanged. It had worked.

Handing his video camera off to Pili, who continued filming, Tony, in full erection, climbed on top of me on the backseat. "This is later," me murmured.

"Oh, shit. Oh, fuck," I murmured as he thrust up inside me and began his own version of the fuck. With a sigh of resignation, I dug my fingernails into his shoulder blades and rocked my pelvis against his. He fucked me and I fucked him back.

And to Jean-Phillipe's greater profit and some of mine and Tony's as well, Pili recorded it all for Jean-Phillipe's exclusive subscription service.

* * * *

Tony was mounted on me in my bed at the resort hotel. I was on all fours and he was covering me from on top, riding my ass high like a rodeo rider, having a ball balling me. I liked the exuberance with which he'd taken me in the Land Rover that afternoon, with all of the Kenyans gathered around, watching. I found I liked to be watched being fucked. I expected Aasir to visit in the night too, but not until later. He prowled around the resort, making sure everything was cooking along, until two or three in the morning. Then he went looking for some guy to fuck. I felt lucky that the previous night, and most likely tonight, it would be me.

Still, after Tony had shot off with me bucking and shooting my load underneath him and had left me, I felt so exhausted and wiped out that I wanted to drift off to sleep until Aasir arrived. I knew Jean-Phillipe wasn't coming. He was besotted with Pili now, and we wouldn't be here much longer. He had to get in his innings with Pili while we were in Kenya. He could have me later, in New York or on any other international shoot he took me on.

He had certainly said it right to Tony. I was easy and I was a slut for it. I'd proven that on this trip. I hadn't laid down and opened my legs for everyone, Kenyans included, that afternoon out in the bush, but if they'd all sniffed around me, I probably would have. They all were hunks. They all had what I wanted swinging between their legs—even the slender Kenyans were hung like bulls. And I could attest from the wild dance today that they all were capable of proud erections. It must be a physical attribute for men in Kenya, I thought.

I wanted to sleep—for it to happen now—so I took a double dose of the PM pills. That indeed put me out.

I came only half awake later, awakened by the sound of the drums in the near distant. Soft humming of the rich resonance of the long horn wafted in, floating above the insistent beat of the drums. The two French windows out onto the resort terrace were open and the gauzy curtains were floating in the breeze. I hadn't remembered opening the windows to the night. In fact, I had been told not to because of the wild animals that wandered—and hunted—in the park in the night.

I was drifting in a haze, the beat of the drums taking over my consciousness, when Aasir came onto the bed, ran his hands up my inner thighs to coax me to open to him as our lips met and he possessed me there, forcing my lips to open and invading with his tongue. Half conscious, I sighed and opened my thighs to him when his weight came down on top of me. I spread and raise my legs, hooking them on his hips. He encircled my waist in an arm, rising my pelvis to him, my torso streaming back onto the bed. He entered and entered and entered me, grasping my ankles and spreading me to a wide V to maximize my openness to his cocking. His hands glided down to my knees, holding the V of my legs. We both were aware of the flash of the camera, neither of us ever knowing who had taken the photo. Later, though, when the photo was placed on the Internet, showing my white legs in a perfect V seeming to rise out of Aasir's perfectly rounded buttocks with his magnificently tapered and muscular brown back between, we both realized it was us in high heat. He fucked me in my soft core to a synchronized beat of the drums. My very own Walpurgis Night.

After he flooded me with his cum, he picked me up and carried me out of one of the French windows, onto the pool terrace, and then off the terrace and into the bush.

He carried me toward the sound of the drums.

They were there, in the circle, fire pits at four points on the periphery of the circle. The Kenyan instruments were playing; the men were dancing. They were all naked. They were all in erection, the Kenyans and the Westerners—not just Jean-Phillipe and Tony, but Harry, the logistics guy as well. A colorful shura had been stretched out in the middle of the circle. The men danced around that in a swirl. Jean-Phillipe lay down on the blanket on his back. Aasir stretched me on top of him, facing up. Jean-Phillipe grasped my waist and helped Aasir put his cock in position, and Jean-Phillipe thrust up inside me deep. Aasir positioned himself on top of me, grasping and raising and spreading my legs. And then he was inside me too, the two men working me together, sharing me as they had done before, out on the veldt.

After they were done, me still in a mental haze, the drum beat thrumming through my brain, each of the other men there—Tony, Harry, Pili, John, Gatimu, Silas, Milo, Wamai, and other Kenyans I had never seen before, covered and fucked me—some singly, some in consort with another. I opened my arms and legs for each and every one of them.

All the time the drums beat and the whine of the long horn floated out over the dance, as, time and again, I rocked my pelvis against men's groins, taking their cocks, pulling their cum out of them, crying out my wanton pleasure to the Kenyan night sky.

Walpurgis Night in October.

* * * *

The drum beat was picking up and the soft sound of the horns above that filtering out as the curtains closed on the dress rehearsal of the latest review at the Guys and More Guys theater in Manhattan's Hell's Kitchen district. The male figures, topless and with colorful sarong-like wrappings at the waist, were still dancing around a central multicolored blanket on which one young dancer was sandwiched between two others in a double penetration sex act that was simulated during the dress rehearsal but would be quite real in the performances. The scene appeared in a haze thanks to the work of the smoke machines in the wings. The smoke became enveloping, and the dancers dropped their sarongs. After a short holding of position in the altogether, the dancers swirled off into the wings.

As the thick mist began to dissipate, only two figures remained on stage, in the center. The central figure was a magnificent black bull, his back to the audience. He was naked, his shoulders broad, tapering down to a narrow waist, every muscle of his body perfectly defined. His buttocks were rounded. Rising up and out from the black dancer's buttocks in a V were the shapely legs of the Caucasian dancer the black bull was fucking. The act of fucking was made obvious by the forward and back swaying and clutching of the black bull's buttocks cheeks.

The drum beats reverberated around the walls of the theater and continued beyond the close of the curtain.

"Brilliant. Riveting. Sexy, Mark. Another great Halloween season show," Guido Coursu, the theater owner, sitting beside me, as the only other member of the dress rehearsal audience, said in a voice heavy with lust. "I don't know where you come up with these mesmerizing reviews," he said. "This was your best revue for October by far. This took me to primeval Africa in a perfect mood for Halloween."

I knew it had turned him on because he'd unzipped me half way through the review and was stroking my cock. Just to be friendly I was doing the same for him.

I, of course, knew exactly where the idea for the review had come from. This had been a hard one to create. Thank God for the fashion house commercial photoshoot trip to Africa the previous month.

Guido turned his face to mine and we kissed. His hand went to the back of my head and he coaxed me to lower my face to his lap. I opened my mouth over his cock, as I knew he wanted me to do. This was the seal of approval for the revenue I had just put on stage. I gave him suck, pleased that once again I had managed to pull a stage set out of the ether, noting in my mind the need to send thank-you notes to Aasir Karu and Jean-Phillipe Jouret.