DISCLAIMER
This story is set in a time in South Africa when the injustice of Apartheid was very much a reality, and some farm workers had no idea that any other reality could exist. The dominant hierarchy of “white superiority” was unquestioned in some rural areas. This is to explore the power dynamic between an older white farmer and his younger, black farm worker. This story may offend some, but it doesn’t reflect my own (non-racist) views at all. Also please note it further pushes the boundaries of taboo by eventually, depicting sex between an adult and a minor.
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I was eight when I first looked at my Baas properly. I had only even looked at him through the eyes of a thin little piekanien. I feared his anger and knew from the tales of my Baba that he wasn't shy about using his sambok (whip). But he seemed like a God to me: tall, and white like the big rocks of the koppie (hillock) when the sun shone on them. His arms were furry and hung out of the sleeves of his shirt like those of the baboons, but strong, with veins on the forearms like a man’s private parts when it was ready for love.
His legs stuck from his tight, short pants like hairy baobab trunks, and I can remember that I looked at the place where they came together, which seemed to be ripe and full like a basket of bread that had been freshly baked. I longed to slide my little black hand up the leg of his trousers and feel for the white snake that nested there. I wanted it to spit on me like I had seen my big brother’s do when he stroked his black boy snake.
I was ashamed of the thoughts that I had about my Baas. Not only was it wrong to want to do these things with another man, but even more so with a white man, who was my master.
One day I abandoned my work tending the sheep, because he had come to the meadows where they grazed to come and check on them. When he got there, proud, on his tall black
horse, he handed the reins to me and walked towards a lone tree that stood in the middle of the open expanse of grazing that stretched for miles in each direction. I knew that he was going to relieve himself and I wanted to see his manhood for myself. I didn’t understand why – all I knew was that it was a secret that I wanted to unravel. Some boys dreamed of dipping their rod in the warm milk of a maiden’s cleft, but for me it was much more attractive to imagine what a strong manhood must hide in the folds of my master’s trousers and what it might do to me…
So I put down the reins of the horse’s bridle in the grass because I knew that he would stay there and eat, while I went off to see what there was to see when my master pissed.
At first I stood behind the tree and shyly peered out to see if I could see him. He seemed to be taking a long time to take his snake out. But then, without turning, he said:
“You can come out Piekanien, I know you’re there.”
My heart froze and fluttered in my chest like a little bird under the gaze of a cat’s stare. But his voice was gentle and even friendly, so I thought that it might be safe to come out. But even if it was not, I would have obeyed, partly because it was our custom when a white man spoke, and partly because I would give anything to see the object of my dreams.
So I stepped out from behind the tree and timidly walked out but remained far behind him. He was facing not towards the tree, but out into the paddock, almost as if he wanted to be seen, not using the tree to shield his privacy.
“Is this what you wanted to see, boy?” he asked as he turned towards me. As he turned I looked into his eyes to see if he was angry, in spite of the fact that he didn’t sound cross. When finally he had turned and assumed a wide-legged stance facing me with his hips thrust forward, I allowed my eyes to travel down his body to see his still pissing snake, the strong stream making a thundering noise as it drenched the dusty bushveld ground.
I was frozen like a mouse faced by a rinkhals (African hooded Cobra). I felt saliva fill my mouth as I gazed, rapt and breathless at the huge tube that protruded at least the length of a link of wors (sausage) from his fly. The skin covered the head causing the yellow liquid to spray carelessly onto the parched soil at his feet as if to say “I will piss where and when I want becasue all that you see belongs to me and I control it and you.
I swallowed and tried to speak, but my voice failed me. The stream started to dwindle and several last, strong squirts thundered onto the ground, after which the beautiful snake just hung there, with a golden drop teetering at the end of the puckered foreskin before it dripped to join the puddle.
The Baas’ kind and amused eyes watched me silently as I stared, transfixed by the pale, hairy wonder that commanded my attention. As I watched it started to raise its majestic head as it filled with blood. I couldn’t help but lick my lips.
“Come here,” he commanded and as if in a dream, I felt my legs obey.
Because I am only an 8 year old boy and he is a tall man, my face was only just above the level of his waist. I stopped about a pace in front of him, just short of the wet patch where his urine had soaked into the thirsty dust. His snake lurched upwards in time to the beat of his heart and I was hypnotized. The skin had started to pull back as it thickened, exposing the shiny purple head beneath, along with one last glistening drop of piss. I had to swallow again and lick my dry lips as I panted silently to still my thundering heart.
By this time his penis had extended to its full length and stuck almost straight up, the skin now fully retracted off the glistening bulb at the end of his white python. My eyes traveled up his pants and his chest to meet his amused, blue pair, and his mouth was crinkled in an amused smirk. His blue eyes glittered with humour. I looked down onto the ground, embarrassed, and I felt my own little pieletjie (cock) push against my ragged shorts.
“Wil my aan hom vat, piekanien?” (Do you want to touch him, young black boy?)
“Yebo, Ntate,” (yes father/uncle) I whispered, my little voice a little puff of dust that fluttered in the wind.
TBC